


A New Kind of Family

by Zevgirl



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: F/M, Het, Rape/Non-con References, Thieves Guild
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-01-11
Updated: 2013-09-24
Packaged: 2017-10-29 09:01:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 70,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/318080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zevgirl/pseuds/Zevgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What she needed most was a different life, an escape from destiny, and the Thieves Guild was the perfect place to start. Nord F!Dragonborn x Brynjolf - Rated M as of Chapter 4.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Homecoming

"Aye, she's a strong lass." Brynjolf's eyes went straight to Vex, a shrewd grin on his lips. "Stronger than you thought, eh Vex?"

"And so what?" Vex sneered and ran her fingers through her cropped hair, irritated by the wounded, incoherent, and wan, fair-haired woman she hardly knew. Another competitive Nord, a would-be thief, a closed-mouth… bitch. "Just sew her up and be done with her. She fouled the job, Bryn."

"She did what you could not do, Vex. And we've all had our share of unintended deaths." Brynjolf delicately sewed up the deep gash on the latest recruits' thigh, his precision that of a seasoned veteran. He tied off the stitches and cut the filament, then looked at Vex with a respectful expression, understanding where her bad temper was coming from. "Business is business. And jealousy doesn't suit you, my friend."

"Jealous of _her_? Her skills are fair at best. She was lucky." Then, as a pointed afterthought, she said, "And she had help from her lover, that wench from Whiterun."

"And her _friend_ is dead now," he said, a slight command for respect in his tone. Vex was always making assumptions, and this time was no different. There was one thing Brynjolf knew about his latest recruit, and it was that her companion was not her lover, but merely a fighter used as support to make it from one town to the next unscathed. "As I recall, you had some help in your early days too."

"I don't remember _you_ helping me at all," Vex snapped. Her tone caused Brynjolf to raise his head and stare at her again, but she spoke in a more sarcastic voice despite his glare. "Or are you referring to _your_ _help_ between the linens?"

Brynjolf let go a snort. "Still sore with me, eh? You know that kind of relationship never works in the Guild."

"I know you like to spread yourself around, Bryn. Get to know the help, their weaknesses… their _dark_ secrets." Vex was treading on dangerous ground bringing up the past, but Brynjolf was too concerned for the newcomer to give in to her indignation, and that maddened Vex all the more. "Between you and Mercer, it's a wonder any women are still working for us."

"It's all for the good of the Guild, Vex." Growing tired of her jabs, Brynjolf pinned her with his best _time to end this foolishness_ stare. "The Guild comes first. Always."

Vex got the message and backed off the personal attacks, but couldn't stop herself from offering another opinion of the recruit. "You know the Nord is going to run now."

"No, she won't," he stated with confidence. "She understands the life we've chosen. She, too, has made her choice."

"Yeah, we'll see."

"Aye… we will." Brynjolf covered the Nord's leg with a fur and eyed Vex again, seriousness plain in his expression. "And Vex, say nothing to her about this. It's critical for her to maintain confidence and your harping on her won't-" He was cut off by the sudden moaning and fitfulness of the recruit.

"Jolf… jolf… it's like…rolf…." The Nord's face paled, her eyes scrunching tightly, and Brynjolf heard an ominous rumbling from deep within her stomach. "I... oh… feel like…."

"What's she blathering on about," Vex said, leaning in closer to hear.

"I'm… gonna…." Without warning, up came what little food was in the recruit's stomach, mixed with some bile, and all directly onto Vex's lap.

"Gods damn you, Nord!" Vex leapt from her chair, vomit dripping down to her knees.

"Oh Vex, that is something to behold!" Despite his stomach churning at the smell, Brynjolf laughed deep and heartily, earning him a fierce scowl from Vex before she stomped toward the water, stripping off a piece of armor with every step. "Hey Vex! Go out and see why Delvin and the mage are delayed when you're cleaned up!"

Laughing, Brynjolf turned his attention to the Nord woman as her breathing labored. He reached into a pocket, withdrew a clean cloth, and set to wiping her mouth clean. How many times he had been in the same position in his earlier years, he couldn't recall. Empathy sprang from his past and he held the recruit's head up, checking her eyes for clarity. "Lass. Look at me now. I need to see your eyes."

She blinked a few times before focusing on his face, and for a split second, she couldn't remember where she was and why. Then it hit her. "Ugh, the bloody Cistern… water, please."

Brynjolf held a cup to her lips and let her sip twice. "Not too fast or else you may retch again. You've lost a lot of blood, lass."

"…Got to… get up…." She dug her hands into the bed, fingers splayed out in an attempt at leverage.

Brynjolf laid his hand on her arm gently, and gave it a quick squeeze. "Relax, lass. You're safe here."

Her muscles went limp, and she sagged back onto the bed. "Don't tell him," she mumbled, her tone fretful.

"Tell who what?"

"Mercer… he can't know I fell after the job." A little energy was coming back to her as she watched the troubled look on his face grow softer. "Just give me my cut and… I'll be out of your hair."

"You'll get your coin. But leaving, well, that's another thing. Mercer is my problem, and I'll handle him. Don't worry about the deaths either," he assured. "He'll be impressed you made it back at all given your condition."

Strange thoughts were going through her head just then. She realized the bed was more comfortable than the floors she had slept on in recent months. It had been so long since she slept without worrying about bandits at her throat or wild animals stealing her provisions as she travelled. She was pleasantly surprised by the kindness of this thief before her. Although she knew him several weeks already, he was still a stranger to her, and she to him, but his consideration of her needs and well-being was in complete contrast to everything she thought a member of the Guild would be like. In a flash of memory, the final moments at the Goldenglow Estate came crashing into her mind. _Lydia_ …. Her friend was now dead, an arrow through her lung. Lydia had begged the Nord to end her life and relieve her suffering, but she couldn't kill her, and without as much as a prayer for the woman who had saved her several times over, the Nord ran for her life, fleeing in panic, and guilt.

"Lydia... didn't make it." _Gods, cradle her now_ , she thought.

Brynjolf nodded somberly. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry about your friend."

"Friend? More like a useless sack of potatoes," she replied intolerantly, not wanting to let him see the anguish tearing her apart. "I just took her along as help. She was a lousy archer and even worse with a blade. She went out in a blaze of glory anyway."

He looked into her eyes, seeing what he knew was the truth of it. "It's all right to feel a bit sad when something like this happens. We may be criminals, lass, but that doesn't mean we're heartless." Still weakened from blood loss, her head lolled from side to side as she tried to lift it. Brynjolf steadied her and offered another sip of water.

He had sized the Nord up within minutes of meeting her a few weeks back. He knew she was eager, that she had a bit of a brutal streak when the occasion called for killing. What he couldn't figure was why she hid behind a mask of coldness _all_ the time, never letting her defenses down. She wouldn't even give him her real name and asked only to be addressed as "Nord". Now, she was weak, open for analysis, and he was certainly going to get what he wanted from her.

"Tell me, lass, what is your true name? I promise to tell no one if that is your wish."

Warily, she watched him from blue-grey eyes. She had long since lost faith in men, yet he seemed to have a quality about him she could trust. And she longed to trust some one, any one, insecurity developed over the years be damned. She had no reason to doubt him, and she felt safe with him beside her. Somehow, she knew she would never be harmed as long as he was near. When his hand took hers, she came back to the present, and under his encouraging gaze, she spoke openly, ready to be heard. "It was… just what I had to do. Staying anonymous was easy when I had no one I could trust beyond doubt."

"You can trust me, lass. Tell me your name."

Her name. She'd forbidden Lydia to call her by name when first they met, claiming it was too dangerous to know her true identity outside of Whiterun. It had been so long since _she_ had said her own name, she was tongue-tied for a moment. "My name is… Na… Natasja."

The stutter didn't bother him. He'd seen it before, especially among those who have lived on the fringe for so long their identities had morphed into anyone but who they really were. "So you trust me," he stated with certainty. "Good, Natasja."

Warmth bloomed across her skin when he said her name, heating her more than any sabre cat fur could ever do. She felt his gaze studying her face and a blush crept up her cheeks. "Why are you helping me?" she blurted. "I mean… I haven't made the Guild much coin or even really helped turn it around yet. So far, I haven't proven a thing."

"Now that's where you're wrong. You have proven you are a survivor. I've seen the spark in your eye, the desire for the better things in life. I see a strong woman capable of much more than she is aware of. Stick with us and _you_ will benefit in ways you've never dreamed."

"You didn't answer my question though. Why are _you_ helping _me_?"

"I suppose I have a weak spot for strays." After she rolled her eyes, he saw the skepticism in her stare. He had to come clean or she might withdraw the trust she had just shown him. "I've rarely been wrong in my assessments of potential members before. In your case, I'm more than sure you will be an asset to the Guild. And if I were to let our assets fester and die that would make for a poor business plan, wouldn't it?"

"Then I'm just another thief being used to bring the Guild back to its former glory," she scoffed. "So you can all retire and get drunk off your riches after you toss me out on my arse, right? Bah. Another user. It figures."

"No, lass. I've never let a successful member go without a fight. So if leaving is what you're thinking of doing, you'd best think again. And that's not a threat either. You'll stay awhile, see if this is the life for you. If not, you'll have my blessing to leave. But you can _never_ speak to, or about, any of us afterward. If you do," he paused and leaned in, his nose almost touching hers. "Well, just don't leave, not yet anyway." He smiled at her then, captivating Natasja with his faith in her.

"You are a sure one, Brynjolf," she breathed.

"You don't get to where I am with nothing but half-truths and bluster." He sat back and folded his arms over his chest, his smugness not lost on her. "I cannot promise you riches untold or fame unrivaled. I can, however, promise to help you, to protect what is mine, what is _ours_ , to teach you everything I know. We are a family here. Never doubt it. And I think," he paused, brushing a few stray locks from her half-lidded eyes, "I think family is just what you need."

A weak smile crossed her lips, dry and cracked from her travels. "Sure… a family," she whispered as exhaustion began to claim her once again.

Brynjolf reached into a pocket and pulled out a small container of balm. After pushing his fingertip into the salve, he gently applied it to her lips in light strokes, a small smile playing on his lips. "Sleep now, lass. It's only uphill from this day forward."


	2. Horse Sense

**Horse Sense**

In the early evening, Natasja woke with a groan and a throbbing ache in her thigh. When she glanced over to the chair beside her bed, Brynjolf was still there. He had nodded off, his head tilted to the side, wisps of auburn hair across his forehead. He was peaceful in his sleep. Natasja squinted to examine his face. He possessed a rugged handsomeness, typical of a Nord, but there was something soothing about his features, something almost… innocent. There was no doubt in her mind; he was a good man, loyal and protective of her new family. She wondered how many initiates had crossed him in the past, and how he exacted revenge. Was he a merciful savior or a ruthless avenger? The thought made her shiver. Natasja had no interest in finding out what ends he would go to if she were to betray the Guild. She would pay her dues, do what was asked of her, and then decide if the Guild was her future. A part of her yearned for a normal life, though: a loving husband, children, perhaps a small horse farm. It was a dream she had often. A distant dream.

She placed her fists on the bed and pushed to sit up. She cried out, more loudly than she would have liked, and Brynjolf's whole body twitched.

"Hm? Oh, lass, you're awake." He stifled a yawn and scrubbed his face, watching as Natasja recoiled and slumped back onto the bed. "Hurts does it?"

"Yeah… don't you have a healer around here?" she asked with a groan.

"Delvin was to bring her. He must have been sidetracked." He stood and peered around the Cistern. "Sit tight, lass."

"Psh. I don't have much of a choice, in case you hadn't noticed."

"Glad to see your cheery disposition hasn't diminished," he teased, then shook his head. "Delvin! Blast, where is that scoundrel?" He sprinted to a near-by chest and snatched a vial, returning quickly. Then he threw off the sabre cat skin covering her thigh, thus exposing her body a bit more. Brynjolf smiled when she flinched. "Fear not, lass. I've seen many a curvy thigh in my time. Right now I'm acting as your healer and not a wanton admirer." His eyes rolled up and he grinned roguishly. "I'll save that performance for another time." Then he continued his ministrations, absently wondering what she thought of his remark.

He applied the ointment carefully, with tender strokes, and Natasja felt like a child under the care of a parent. That would not do at all. "I imagine you've seen every thigh from here to Markarth," she said, cringing at the sudden sting.

"Hold still, lass. I know this hurts, but the alternative is much worse." He glanced at her, evaluating her statement's real intention. "The thighs I had when I travelled to Windhelm, now those were... well, a story for another time, perhaps."

Natasja's heart skipped a beat. A bitter or perhaps possessive streak she'd always hated emerged from deep within her, and tamping it down was proving to be difficult. Imagining him as a capable lover, leaving a trail of broken hearts in his wake, one-night stands the only way he knew… no, she wouldn't revisit that kind of heartbreak again. But… by the Divines, he was handsome. "Everyone here seems… _friendly_ that way."

"Brief pleasures only, lass. Relationships of an amorous nature never last in the Guild. We're too close, too… wary."

"Wary?" She shifted and moved to sit upright, the pain diminishing under his care. "What is there to be cautious of? I suppose a lover's knife at your throat in the dark of the night is bothersome, but most likely worth it for a night of passion."

"You know of passion, do you?"

She gave a short laugh. "I know what people need to get by."

His heart began to race, hoping she would understand what he was about to say. "Then you also know life is short for people like us, lass. The pain of losing someone so close to your heart is more than enough reason to keep things _easy_ and uncomplicated. Don't get me wrong, we all watch out for each other, like brothers and sisters, but a long-term lover or a spouse? No, it's not fair to either person involved."

"So no one here is married? Even to someone outside the Guild?"

"It happened once, but…." He looked away for a moment. "It didn't end well. I won't tell anyone what to do with their personal life, but when a member gets it into their head that hearth and home should be in their future, I tell them the story. Works like a charm."

"And what is the story?"

"The story, lass, is a well honed blade kept sheathed until it's needed. I don't think I have to pull it out for you just yet."

Judging by the somberness of his voice, she figured it had something to do with him personally. If she had her way, _that_ story would be unsheathed sooner than Brynjolf realized. "I have no interest in a relationship of any kind other than business."

He nodded, but the gleam in his eye didn't match his tone. "Good," he grumbled. "Then you will do well here. Watch our backs and we'll watch yours."

"I'll watch more than your back, Brynjolf," she tantalized with a wink. "Your armor is quite form fitting you know."

"Don't, lass." He resisted the urge to fire off a joke, opting to crush any hint of interest she thought he had in her. "Save your flirtations for another. Or better yet, when they're needed during a job."

 _He's so full of it_ , she thought angrily. "Surely you can't be _that_ pure-minded, Brynjolf. I've seen the way you watch me."

He took a deep breath and watched her squirm, uncomfortable with her own bold words. How far was she willing to take this? "You don't have to prove anything to me," he said, calmly placing a hand on her shoulder. "If you're looking for some… fun, why don't you ask the other, more _willing_ candidates down here?"

 _Damn this man_. _I'll show him how I have fun. If he only knew…._ Foul language was at the ready, but she said nothing.

"Silence, lass?" he teased, his voice low. "That's not your typical style."

The scandalous words moved to the tip of Natasja's tongue just as Delvin appeared with a blindfolded woman, saving her from further inadvertent embarrassment.

"It's about time!" Brynjolf blew out an exasperated breath and leapt from the chair, taking the arm of the mage Delvin had procured to heal Natasja.

"Sorry, Bryn. Seems our regular mage up and left for the College. Had to convince Marya it would be worth her while."

Brynjolf motioned to Delvin to remove the blindfold. As he did so, the woman blinked a few times and then glared at Delvin. "If you had said we were going to this rat infested cistern, I would've asked for more coin, Delvin Mallory!"

"And you shall have more coin," Brynjolf cut in. "Heal this woman and we'll send you off with your pockets full."

The woman harrumphed and sat on the bed, knowing she was not in danger. She and Delvin were old acquaintances, since the Guilds' glory days. As the mage laid her hands on her injured thigh, Natasja immediately flushed, the sickly pallor fading from her face. "Nasty gash you had there. Lucky you had someone skilled enough to sew it up and stave off the infection."

Without thinking, Natasja offered a kindly smile to Brynjolf, and he smiled back, genuinely happy to see her gratitude. Then, unexpectedly, her mouth set in a firm line as she silently cursed herself for allowing any appreciation to show. Natasja kept her eyes on the floor, and swung her legs off the bed to stand up. Arms and legs were held out as she stretched, and she could feel the eyes of her brethren upon her, Delvin in particular. It was then Natasja realized she had nothing on but a long shirt scarcely covering her hips, her legs exposed to anyone looking her way. Rather than seem uncomfortable with her bareness, she opted to pull on a pair of trousers casually, her back to the men. She heard Delvin take a deep breath, but no sound came from Brynjolf. When she spun around to face them, Delvin sucked in another breath between clenched teeth, but Brynjolf had averted his eyes, gazing off toward the practice area. _Now he's acting like a gentleman. How amusing._

"Here, Marya," Brynjolf said, handing a pouch full of coin to the mage. "Thanks for your time. If we need your services again, I assume you will be available?" She shook the pouch and nodded once. "All right then. Hey, Dirge! Get her back home, won't you?" Dirge tipped his head and Marya walked away with him, smiling as she fondled the bag of coins.

Delvin was still staring, unblinking, and Brynjolf cleared his throat loudly. "Del!"

Snapping out of his daydream, he noticed Natasja didn't seem to mind his ogling. When she winked at him, he almost laughed at his luck. _Maybe_ s _he's easier than I thought_. "Glad to help you, Nord."

Reenergized, Natasja took her armor out of the foot chest, securing and fastening the buckles as fast as her fingers would allow. "I need some fresh air. I think I'll head out to the Bee and Barb for some food and drink. Care to join me, Delvin?" Wiggling her brows suggestively, she laid her hand on his chest and felt his heart beat race. Her palms were sweaty, but her confidence was convincing. "I'll buy you a pint as thanks."

"Absolutely, Nord. The dankness in here gets to me sometimes, too."

"Delvin, please call me Natasja," she said, in the sweetest voice any of them had heard from her yet.

"Sure thing." He leaned in and whispered in her ear. "Natasja… lovely."

She slowly turned her head to look at Brynjolf, smirking at the shocked expression he wore. "How about you? Care to try to drink us under the table?"

"Ah, no thanks." _What have I gotten myself into with this woman?_ Her cheekiness was bothersome to him, but alluring all the same. He hadn't felt such a strong desire for a woman in ages, and he couldn't pinpoint where it was coming from or why. He knew she would be a thorn in his side at times, but the challenge, the idea of cracking her facade and wiping the smug simper from her face would be more exciting than any job he'd had recently. But he had to tread carefully. Better to let Natasja have her fun with him now. "I have some business to attend to, business I've neglected while caring for a wounded sister."

 _Sister!_ she thought _. Never_. Sudden panic overrode her ire. She wanted to choke out _please come with me_ , throw herself at his feet, and beg him to go along. "Your loss then," she said, her tone brittle with indignation. As Delvin turned to leave, Natasja reached out and smacked his muscular backside, causing him to jump in surprise.

"Oi! You're a cheeky girl, aren't ya?"

"So I've been told," she said as she pushed him toward the exit. "Come on, Del. Move it!"

Brynjolf wasn't sure what to make of her at first. But the more he thought about it, the more he realized Natasja was pretending. She wasn't interested in Delvin. She was interested in Brynjolf's reaction to her sassy behavior. And who was he to hold back? She'd see his reaction, in due course. Patience was, after all, one of his strongest qualities.

He gave them a few minutes head start before he left the Cistern. Slipping in between the shadows of the moonlight, he kept well hidden in alleyways and behind statues. Delvin would sense him following, and he'd gloat about it the next time he had Brynjolf alone. As for Natasja, he wasn't so sure of her subterfuge skills yet. Brynjolf watched them enter the Bee and Barb, amused with Delvin who was putting his most pleasant foot forward and holding the door for her. However, his amusement was tempered by thoughts of Delvin's wily ways. The last thing Brynjolf wanted was Delvin influencing his new protégé with flirting and overtures of pleasure. A ladies' man when he wanted to be, Delvin also fancied himself an educated thief. He was no stranger to smooth lines and clever tricks of speech. _He is a rascal. Maybe too much of one._

Brynjolf waited, impatiently fussing with his belt buckle. After half an hour, he ventured toward the door, cracking it open just enough to peer inside the establishment. Delvin and Natasja were at the bar, tossing back their ales, and laughing. They sat close, a little too close for Brynjolf's liking.

Sneaking in and rounding a corner, Brynjolf perched himself on a tall stool behind a column where he was able to see them and hear their conversation. He saw Delvin twist his neck and quickly look over his shoulder before huddling closer to Natasja, unabashedly letting out a laugh, pretending it was for her instead of for Brynjolf's attempt at sneaking. Slyly, she peered over Delvin's shoulder and her eye caught a flash of auburn. Brynjolf was sunk. But she didn't move, didn't acknowledge him in any way.

What made it worse was that she seemed to be enjoying Delvin's company, laughing at his childish pickpocket jokes. When Delvin's hand began creeping up her thigh slowly, she put her arm around his shoulders and took the offending hand in hers, but there was no affection there. Brynjolf noticed every slight hesitation she made, every time she looked away and closed her eyes for the briefest of moments, an almost pained look on her face. He knew then she was terrified of what might happen with Delvin. Was she expecting something different from Devlin? Was she expecting Brynjolf to jump in and whisk her away? Everything she'd done had been an act, and Brynjolf's heart had broken a little each time.

Delvin motioned to Keerava and leaned toward her, but Brynjolf couldn't hear the muffled voices. When Keerava slid a key to Delvin, Natasja smiled slyly and looked toward the staircase, fear mingled with curiosity in her gaze _._ Delvin took her hand, and Brynjolf watched as Delvin led her up the stairs, disappearing out of sight.

Brynjolf sighed, hoping that maybe a good roll in the sack was all she needed to change her outlook. If Delvin had her tonight, he'd be sure to have her every night until he got bored and moved on. Brynjolf's only consolation was that he knew Delvin would be kind to her. He would be gentle or rough, chivalrous or crude; whatever it was she asked for and needed, Delvin would be more than happy to comply with. It would have to do for now.

Brynjolf left the Bee and Barb, too restless to head back to the Cistern. It was a clear night, and he looked at the full moon, large as a wagon wheel. A perfect night for a ride to clear his head, he decided. He made his way to the stables and found his horse, Hammersteed. He hadn't ridden in a week, and Hammersteed was in need of some grooming. Picking up a brush, he began to flick it up and away from the horse's coat, dirt coming off in a slight cloud of dust with each soothing brushstroke. Brynjolf's strokes fell into a rhythm and soon he was mesmerized, staring blankly with thoughts of Natasja and Delvin drifting through his mind. When he heard the rustle of leaves beneath feet, he went still, his hands clenched and ready to launch a blow.

A lilting voice split the quiet night air. "Lovely night for a ride, isn't it?"

"Hm?" He turned. His fists were held up, but then they dropped when the moonlight stole across her face. "Lass? Is that you?"

"Better me than an assassin, no?"

"What are you doing here?"

"I felt like a ride." She walked to the horse next to Hammersteed and began to stroke its nose, and then she spoke in a low voice, greeting the horse in between coos. Brynjolf's frown turned into a smile when he saw the animal didn't seem to mind her. In fact, the horse began to nuzzle her shoulder. She spoke into its ear, and then looked at Brynjolf. "While you're at it, would you mind grooming Saturnalia here? I've been neglecting her lately."

"I didn't know you owned a horse."

"There are a lot of things you don't know about me, Brynjolf."

"Aye, you're right, lass. Maybe you can enlighten me some time." He approached her, unable to tear his eyes from the tender sight of her affection for Saturnalia. Then words fell from his lips before he had thought to stop them. "Bit of a short interlude with Del, wasn't it?"

"I don't kiss and tell," she said, smiling. She didn't look at him, and continued to run her fingers along the horse's nose, waiting, her breathing erratic as Brynjolf drew closer. "Why do you care anyway?" she managed to ask. When he leaned in to whisper in her ear, she held her breath.

"I care because…." His mouth was on her ear then, his teeth nipping at her.

"Because?" she whispered.

"You're new to this game, aren't you, lass? You are… not as experienced as you'd like me to believe."

She swallowed hard, her mouth suddenly dry. "It seems you've caught me in a lie of sorts. What do you… intend to do about it?"

"What do you want me to do about it, lass?"

She sidestepped away when he put his hand on the small of her back. "I… I don't…."

"Tell me to stop then," he purred, stepping closer. "Do you want me to stop?"

"Of course I do." She took another half step, backward this time and straight into a stone column. She was trapped.

In that moment, he was right in front of her, his breath hot on her bare neck. "What am I doing that bothers you so?"

 _Standing too close_ sounded so foolish she dismissed it immediately. "Don't you have something better to do? Train your horse, perhaps?"

"There is only one creature here in need of training, lass."

" _Stop_ calling me that!"

"Natasja," he murmured. He kissed the side of her neck, his touch sweeping through her like waves of magic. Almost roughly, he took her chin in his hand and turned her to face him. His eyes stared into hers, and then his mouth flew down to take hers with a hunger and a passion that dizzied her. His mouth moved on hers, claiming it, teasing it with masterful seduction, filling her with an ache somewhere between ecstasy and madness.

She couldn't have resisted him if she wanted, and she did not want to resist, now or ever. His lips, his tongue, his hands, each extracted secrets of their own. They told her she was his; she no longer had any choice.

With the moonlight glowing, there was a dreamlike quality to the moment, and he dropped to his knees before her, worshipping her calves, her knees, his squeezes and kisses weakening her. Finally, her legs gave out, and she, too, fell to her knees. "Brynjolf… by the Gods, I want you." Breathless, she took his face in her trembling hands, kissing him full on his lips again and again.

He caught her waist and pulled her close, his strength overpowering her. Pressing on her back, his arm pulled her against him so tightly she thought she might faint from lack of air. His other hand kept her face trapped in his strong fingers, his mouth continuing its sweet ministrations. He slowly placed one kiss on each eyelid, on the scar on her cheek, her nose, and then a chaste kiss on her lips, lingering as his hands threaded through her hair.

At the edge of his memory, he sensed something that felt wrong, perilous. Suddenly, he stilled and moved away. Standing abruptly, he pulled her to her feet, looking at her with eyes both desirous and haunted. He looked away as if he'd changed his mind, although she could see his pulse leaping in his neck. He let go of her hand, lightly brushing a finger against her skin.

The slight touch made her burn with desire, but he was withdrawing from her too fast. "Please, Brynjolf, let me in."

"I'm sorry," he said, his face cold and without emotion.

"Are you?" she asked, hurt, but not sorry at all.

He nodded. "I am. You are used to men's… attentions, I'm sure."

 _He thinks that's all I am, a flirt and nothing more_. She wrapped her arms tightly around herself, suddenly feeling exhausted, almost sick. "I… I'm not sure what you mean, Brynjolf. I thought we… that you…." The words wouldn't come, and she just stared at him.

"I'm no better than any of those men. But another time, the right time, in the right way… not like this. And not now."

"What do you mean? I don't understand…." To her surprise, he took her hand and led her toward the city gates. She went along in confusion, comforted only by his strong fingers entwined with hers. "Where are we going?" she asked, her voice quavering.

"To the cemetery."

His simple answer didn't ease the knot building in her stomach. Hoping he would provide a tidbit of information with his response, she said, "I already know the secret passage, Brynjolf."

"Just follow me."

With a heavy sigh, she did. But the hopeful flame in her heart was dying fast.

Once through the gates, she could feel her heart racing as she navigated puddles and loosened cobblestones along the path. The city was quiet; only the sound of their boots plodding forward broke the silence.

She followed willingly, looking at him as they made their way past graves long forgotten. Nervously, she asked, "Why won't you tell me where you're taking me?" Then she took a deep breath and squeezed her eyes closed for a moment, willing her pounding heart to calm.

"Almost there." He gripped her hand tighter.

"Damn it, Brynjolf, you're crushing my fingers!"

As they approached an ivy-covered grave, he glanced behind him to look around. They were alone. He only heard the wind softly whistling through the trees, rustling the leaves. Natasja looked at him with a suspicious glare, sharp, but lovely all the same. However, his expression was somber, and he looked away as he let her go.

He bent down and brushed some leaves and cobwebs off the inscription. Rocking back on his heels, he sat and stared at the gravestone. "Hello, Ana. It's been a while." Brynjolf dug into his pocket and pulled out a skeleton key, laying it on the stone gently and whispering a prayer.

The bright moonlight peeked through the clouds and shined down upon the grave. Natasja's feet began to sink into the mud where she stood in a puddle, a chill running up her spine. Looking through curious eyes, she was able to discern the inscription.

 _Anabel Berglund_

 _Until the day break, and the shadows flee away, turn, my beloved, to a young doe upon the mountain._

Natasja understood now. A woman he had once loved lay beneath the grass-covered ground. Not a mother or a sister, but a lover or a wife. Her heart sank as a sad grimace crossed her face.

Brynjolf looked up at her, mournful, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. "Come sit with me, lass. I have a story to tell you."

 __

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some parts of this story will be a bit outside game canon. I needed a reason for Brynjolf's inability to marry the PC, which for my purposes will be seen as disinterest for a particular reason and not complete unavailability. Also, I'm fiddling with the events of the Dragonborn's life pre-game to forward my story.
> 
> * _Until the day break, and the shadows flee away, turn, my beloved, to a young doe upon the mountain._ This is a modified bible verse, Song of Solomon 2:17.


	3. Ghosts

_Oh no… no… Gods, not the story…_ Natasja collapsed more than she sat down, her knees giving out and buckling. She was reluctant to look at Brynjolf, ashamed of her persistent questioning, afraid of the words he was about to speak. She stared at her scuffed boots and the sprigs of grass poking out from beneath them. If he saw her eyes, he would know she understood, as she understood about all things painful. But she didn't want to understand; she wanted to be ignorant, just this once, for certain uncovered truths might have her fleeing toward… anywhere but Riften. The most dreadful ache in the pit of her stomach rose as she stared at the stone, the silence unbearable. _Say something, say something…._

"I don't need to hear the story. I'm sure I know-"

"No, you don't know," he interrupted, his voice soft and tinged with grief. "Anabel was not my wife, but… she would've been. She was in the Guild, a promising thief, too. So skilled and clever." He smiled sadly. "There was a time when I had fierce enemies, only I didn't realize it. Too naïve, too… eager for riches to care. I stole from the wrong people and Ana paid for it with her life."

There were so many lines furrowing his brow and only unhappiness and pain could have put them there. Worse, was that he looked vulnerable. She began to feel uncomfortable watching him like this; it almost seemed a violation of his privacy. Natasja closed her eyes for a moment.

"It was her choice to join the Guild, wasn't it?"

"It was, and _my_ choice that night led Anabel here. Every assassin knows the way to kill a man without shedding blood is to take what is most valuable from him."

She laid a hand on his arm and squeezed gently. "Brynjolf, I'm sorry. I… have no words to say."

He went on with the story, attempting to purge the sorrow from his soul. "She suffered first, unspeakable things done before I found her. Never again, I swore I would _never_ allow this to happen again." He ran his thumb across Natasja's cheek, a tear escaping his eye. "I'm sorry, lass. I was foolish back there at the stables. Caught up in the moment. But we cannot be together in the way you wish to be."

"Why can't we? I can handle myself. I'm experienced when it comes to threat and fear, Brynjolf, not a novice," she chattered on. "You don't know what I've done, the things I've escaped from. What happened with Anabel was undoubtedly because she hadn't the skills to survive."

"Perhaps." He nodded somberly. "But it was mostly my fault." He turned away from her. "You deserve someone who can give you all of the things that please you."

Gently, she grasped his chin with her hand, forcing him to look into her eyes. " _You_ please me," she said softly.

She tilted her head and brushed her lips against his. For a moment, he melted into the kiss, and his affection made her dizzy. She felt rushes of emotion she had not experienced since her life in Whiterun. When she felt his hands tenderly cup her face, all of the barriers she had set up against those emotions crumbled like a dam bursting. She felt herself responding honestly to the desire his kiss ignited in her. Then it was over.

"You are free to leave the Guild."

"And that's all you have to say to me?" she asked, practically shouting and gaping at him.

"I honestly didn't think I would need to tell you this so soon. And I knew it would hurt. But I'm saving you from _further_ upset this way." He stood up unsteadily, and his shoulders slumped. "It's your choice. If your things are cleared out by tomorrow, I'll explain it to Mercer. No worries."

"Damn you, Brynjolf! And damn your guilt. I'm not running away," she asserted. "Maven and Delvin told me about the Meadery job. _Whiterun_ is where I'll be heading tomorrow. So you can take your protective instincts and shove them up your arse!" She picked at the grass viciously, her eyes veiled by long bangs and her cheeks tight.

He'd never seen anyone so angry with him, or miserable because of him. But it was for the best; better to have her furious with him than face the alternative down the road. He reined in the guilt, pushed back the desire to cradle her in his arms, and forced his tone to grow cold.

"Be careful then, lass. A lot of skeevers live in those tunnels. They're bloodthirsty and disease-ridden creatures."

"Yeah, thanks for the tip!"she shouted angrily, wiping away the tears the ache in her heart had drawn out. She sat with her head on one knee, taking shallow breaths until the pain lessened. "You're a damn fool," she whispered, unsure if he'd heard her.

He did. With long strides, he left the cemetery, glancing back only once to see her hunched and silent, misery consuming her.

To the Flagon then, for a stiff drink or two.

* * *

Once inside the Cistern, Brynjolf approached Mercer before heading to the Flagon. The older, but not necessarily wiser man didn't raise his head from the Guild's books. Brynjolf waited a moment, then spoke up impatiently. "Natasja's leaving for Whiterun tomorrow."

"So, the new girl is eager for more work. Good. Maybe you _are_ right about her."

"I am."

"Still, she's an amateur. I want you to go to Whiterun with her. I'll take care of things here."

" _What_?"

"Tail her if you don't want be around her," Mercer said, carefully dipping the tip of his quill into the inkpot, avoiding Brynjolf's eyes. "She'll need the backup. I'm sure of it,"

Mercer was hiding something. A sixth sense in Brynjolf was sure of it. "And why are you so certain, Mercer? What aren't you telling me?"

Mercer set his quill down on the table carefully, too carefully. "Is there a problem, Brynjolf? I do _not_ like to be interrogated." Brynjolf backed away, his palms held up as he yielded. "Good." As if his demand wasn't insulting enough, Mercer threw a coin at him. "Don't forget to eat, hm?"

"By the Divines, this must be my punishment," he grumbled walking away and unaware he had just passed Delvin. "I don't know what's going on around here."

"What's that?" Delvin asked.

"Ah, nothing, nothing." He stopped, still staring, and forgetting Natasja and Delvin's earlier tryst. "Anything interesting happen tonight, Del?"

"Nah, it was much less excitin' than I would've liked. That Nord's a curious one. I thought there was a right good tumble in my future, but she changed her mind. Said she was interested in another and it would be wrong to forget him."

"Did she now?" Surprised didn't describe his feelings. Yes, he was intrigued by her. Impressed. Aroused. But not surprised. "I wonder who he is."

Delvin saw Brynjolf's mind racing. He'd known him far too long to miss _that_ kind of reaction. "She didn't say much. Just that he was a lousy pickpocket, but a good man. Know anyone like that?"

"Can't say that I do."

"Right." Delvin took a step closer. "You know, Bryn, I can give you a bit of help with your sneakin' skills. You've grown lazy with your high and mighty position here, I think."

He stared at Delvin, and after a pause he said, "Mercer wants me to tag along with her to Whiterun."

"Ahh, very interestin'. I'm surprised Mercer's sending you off. Something strange about that, eh?"

"Maybe. Keep an eye out, Del. The way things have been around here, you never know who's got your back."

"Mercer thinks I'm daft anyway. Should be easy enough." Then, as an afterthought, he said, "And Bryn, don't play cards with the Nord. She cheats like a bandit."

His short laugh sounded strangled. "Aye, she is a cagey one, isn't she?"

A sudden sashay of hips distracted the two men and their eyes went to Natasja. "Speakin' of the temptress," Delvin whispered.

Natasja pulled Delvin toward her, not sparing a glance at Brynjolf, and her words were all jumbled together in a rush. "Del, can I talk to you a moment? If you're not too mad at me about tonight, I could use a few pointers from a master sneak before I head out."

"No worries, girl," he whispered with a pat on her shoulder, and then raised his voice. "And I was tellin' Bryn he needed some help with that too. How about a little class then?"

"Count me out, Del. I've got packing to do." Brynjolf walked away slowly, looking at his feet.

Delvin shrugged.

"Where is he off to?" Natasja asked.

"If I tell you that, you better not let him know who you heard it from."

She pounded her chest twice and held up two crossed fingers. "Thief's honor."

Delvin smirked. "Whiterun. Mercer's order."

"Shit. I don't need a bloody nursemaid," she snapped.

"Bryn's been called many things, but nursemaid isn't one of them. I'm not goin' to hold back on you, Nat—can I call you that?"

"Yeah, whatever," she said unsmiling, her eyes flitting around the Cistern.

"Such sour moods around here," Delvin remarked. "Let me ask you somethin', Nat. Did he tell you? The story, that is.

She looked at him apprehensively. "Was it really as bad as he said, Del?"

"Worse. Never seen anything like it." When he paused, she eyed him curiously. "I shadowed him. We knew they were ruthless killers, and I couldn't let him go it alone. When I got to him, there weren't any of the bastards left for me to take care of. He'd hacked them to pieces, blood and guts everywhere, and he just… held her in his arms. It was right out of a tragic love story, I tell ya."

"Oh, Gods… It's a wonder he didn't go mad."

"He did. At least for a while," Delvin said sadly, as though he were speaking to himself. "Ana was somethin' though. Sweet little thing, but a trickster like one I've never seen. She'd pull these pranks on Bryn, get him all riled up, making him look like a fool in front of us. Then she'd bat her eyelashes, cook him a meal, and soften him right up again. They were quite a pair. Made the Guild a lot of coin too." He straightened and put on a smile. "But enough talk about that. Come on! Delvin'll have you sneaking like a fox in no time."

"Give me a couple minutes, will you, Del?" she said as she turned to leave. "I have to do something first."

"You know where to find me." He nodded. "And, Nat, go easy on the man. For his sake."

She looked over her shoulder, her eyes soft and thoughtful. "I'll keep what you said in mind."

Natasja picked up her pace and turned the corner leading to Brynjolf's private room. She tiptoed to the doorway, and saw him sitting on his bed, his head cradled in his hands. _Shit_. Two sharp raps on the door and his head lifted.

She took a step toward him. "I have to say something to you."

"Sorry, lass. I have important things to do. How about another time?"

"You're just sitting there!" she said, quirking her lips. "Brynjolf, I want you to listen to me, right now." His eyes went dark at her demand, but she held her ground. "Please." When he sighed and shook his head, she dove in headfirst. "I want to apologize for my behavior in the cemetery. I was out of line," she said without taking a breath. "And secondly, I… I just wanted to tell you how sorry I am about Anabel. I don't want to dwell on bad memories, but you think no one knows what you went through. I'm here to tell you that I _do_ know. I truly do."

His expression softened, which made her throat tighten just a little.

"I appreciate that, lass. I'd… hoped there wasn't heartbreak like that in your past, but I guess that hope was in vain."

"I like to keep the past _in_ the past. People change. Circumstances change and I go along with all of it," she said stoically, but Brynjolf thought she sounded rather desolate. "My future was altered by… strange events. It was inevitable, but that doesn't mean I give them control over me today." She laughed, rolling her eyes. "Listen to me. I sound like one of the priests at the temple now. Look, I only wanted to apologize. "

Brynjolf tried to imagine Natasja sounding desperate and could not. He could think only of her low, warm, controlled voice, her rigid quiet. "I'd be willing to listen to your tales, if you have a mind to talk about it."

"Maybe on the road to Whiterun?" she said with a smug expression.

"Damn that sneak." Brynjolf jumped to his feet and paced like a caged animal. "I know you don't want me to tag along, lass, but I can't refuse Mercer's request."

"I know you can't. It's fine with me," she said, her brows knitted together. "Well… we'll make the most of it then. I promise to keep at least twenty paces ahead of you at all times. So you can watch my back." She faced him, grinning mischievously.

"Don't you have some training to get to?"

"You think you're sick of me now?" Stepping back out the door, she flung her hair over her shoulder and looked at him boldly. "Wait until you spend a few days alone with me. You'll be crying for your mum after an hour of my lectures on herbs and wildlife."

"Challenge accepted, lass," he said, and ran a hand through his hair as she disappeared. _Damn you, Mercer._

* * *

Natasja and Brynjolf rode all day, mostly in silence. Contrary to her strong statements the night before, she had withdrawn, wearing the same mask of cold indifference she'd worn from the beginning. What few diversions they had were of the bandit variety, and the occasional wolf pack. It was nothing they couldn't handle working as a team. When Natasja set to killing alone though, her swiftness and brutal ferocity often left Brynjolf speechless. He tried to question her, ask where she had learned to wield her sword with such force. All he got back was a glare, to which Brynjolf would say "Now, now, lass" every single time. It didn't make the travelling any easier, but her exasperated hisses entertained Brynjolf immensely.

Just before nightfall, they made camp on the southern shore of the Lake Geir. They were not far from Ivarstead, but Natasja insisted they camp in a pleasant, semi-wooded spot rather than venture into town to the inn. Brynjolf was curious, but didn't push her for more information. It had been quite a long time since he spent a night sleeping under the stars, so he agreed, and the idea of spending time alone with her was fascinating to him.

Twilight bathed the lakeshore with an ethereal glow, painting the sky with the same pale violet as the flowers clustered where their horses stood tied to a tree. Natasja tended the fire while Brynjolf laid out a supper of bread and fish stew. They sat by the small blaze for a while, Natasja munching an apple and Brynjolf honing his blades. The crackling of the coals and the sounds of the crickets all around them made her think of the times she and her sister had camped when they were children. Those happy memories spurred her to speak at last.

"They're awfully loud tonight."

"Who?"

"The crickets. The warmer it is, the louder they sing."

He reached out and plucked a cricket from her hair, holding it in front of her eyes. "I think this one likes you."

He didn't see the finger coming before it poked him in the eye as she jumped from her log, squealing and flailing about. She scurried backwards, her hands slapping her head pointlessly, her hair flying in all directions.

"Whoa, lass! It's only a cricket!"

"I hate them!" In a frenzy of movement, she moved nearer to Brynjolf. When he hauled her up in his arms, she continued to thrash wildly. "Put me down!"

She kicked and twisted until he nearly dropped her. "Be still, lass. For the love of… Are you trying to attract every bandit within shouting distance?" When he started to laugh harder, she began to slip from his grasp. Ignoring the ache developing in his back, he bent forward, and he let her hit the ground, feet first.

"Damn insects." She brushed her arms of invisible bugs and shivered. "No, I'm not trying to attract every bandit. I … ach… bugger off, Bryn." She pulled away from him as he looked at her with an outrageously amused expression. How foolish she was. She should simply accept the inevitable: he would see a few of the irrational fears she possessed on this trip. She puffed up angrily. " _Don't_ make fun of me."

"Never, lass." A half-smile turned up his lips and his brows rose, a mischievous gleam in his eyes. "Maybe you should trade in your sword for a fly-swatter when we get to Whiterun."

"Ha. Ha." She couldn't help but laugh at herself then. And Brynjolf was trying so hard to keep a straight face, it was all she could do not to reach out and punch his arm. Although she doubted he would have taken the gesture in the spirit in which it was intended.

Her amusement made him scowl. "Are you… are you laughing at _me_ now?"

"I'm laughing at us," she corrected him. "But just so you know, I resisted the urge to bring you down and beat you until you begged for mercy. I'll keep that in my pocket for another time."

"Is that a promise?" he asked, his tone light and teasing as he reclaimed his piece of driftwood and sat.

"Oh, yes, Brynjolf. That is a promise."

Soon the two of them were settled on their logs, the atmosphere much lighter, the fire much warmer, and their bodies much closer.

"I need to tell you about something, Brynjolf. And I'm not sure how to start."

He raised his eyebrows and sat upright. "And what is that, lass?" Then he pinched the bridge of his nose and stifled a yawn. "No, let me guess - you hate my stew."

"No, no," she said, smiling. "Your stew is actually quite good. About Whiterun..." Natasja stopped. Looking into those concerned green eyes, she faltered. "I… I have a pretty nice house and we can stay there," she said looking away. "But more importantly, I am the Thane of Whiterun."

"The Thane of Whiterun?" he repeated, lifting his eyebrows in surprise. "Well, that's impressive."

"Whiterun was good to me, for a time. As I told you before, there are many things you don't know or understand about me. I'm… different than most."

"I'm starting to believe you now." The admission pleased him and boosted his curiosity. "Tell me about your time there. Any friends or family?"

"Well, Lydia was my housecarl. That's partly why she came with me to Riften."

"I see. So she became your friend as well. That is to say, you _seemed_ close."

"Somewhat. She reminded me of my sister, Cora," she paused, taking a deep breath, "back when we lived in Ivarstead."

"Is your sister still there?"

"I don't know where she is. She may dead, for all I know," she said, feeling a bit braver. Her gaze went to the lake, distant and misty. "I was a few years older than Cora when we were orphaned. For a time, people took us in, fed us, but as we grew older, it was necessary to flee to safer havens, to protect my sister from… men with few, or no, morals. Along the way, I lost her to a family I thought would care for us. The _man_ of the house turned out to be less than kind though. Hmph. He was no man."

Her face darkened when she'd talked about her sister. The sadness that followed when she told him about her loss made him reach for her, but she pulled back.

"Cora was so pretty, quiet and shy. I was… loud, clumsy, and marred with scars, and I fought back for her, hurt him when I could. I guess he didn't have the balls to kill me, so he drugged me and put me on a wagon bound for Solitude. I spent half a year trying to get back to that farm, and when I finally got there, it was burned to the ground. I dug up more information, followed leads based on her description, searching in vain for another year, just… wandering, trying to stay alive long enough to find her."

He sat quietly and listened to her every word, not interrupting her once.

"One day I set foot in the wrong place and was deemed a Stormcloak rebel. I wound up a prisoner headed for the executioner's block in Helgen. I escaped with the help of a man from Riverwood, and a dragon, if you can imagine _that_ , and then eventually headed for Whiterun."

"Sweet Divines," he whispered. For a moment, he swore the wind was knocked out of him. He was surprised by her admission, by her sudden vulnerability. It softened his hesitant feelings toward her. He pulled her close and comforted her, and this time, she let him hold her tighter. "I had no idea, lass."

"I have few tears left to shed now. But please don't pity me, Brynjolf."

"I'm not. I'm only amazed you survived."

"No more than me," she said with a curious smile. "Anyway, when I first saw Lydia in Whiterun, I had to make sure she became my housecarl and not some oaf's plaything. She was so bitter though, and she hated her station in life. I tried my best to develop a relationship with her, a sisterhood of sorts, but… it wasn't meant to be. She was loyal to the end though. Unlike myself."

"Now, lass, that's not fair of you to say. What happened at Goldenglow was rotten luck."

Her face drained white and tears formed in her eyes, but they didn't spill. "I left her to die, Brynjolf. Left her body to be taken by scavengers." She poked at the fire before tossing the stick into the flames, crackling embers flying into the air violently. "Like a coward."

Brynjolf felt a chill run down his spine. "I like to think I would have drawn my blade across Ana's throat to keep her from that end, but could I have in reality? I don't know." He looked away, hoping his own shame didn't show. "Sometimes, we have no other choice but to run, Natasja." Her head shot up, and wide-eyed, she looked at him. "I'm sorry, did I offend?"

"You said my name."

"Aye, and a lovely name it is. It suits you."

The heat from the fire didn't burn nearly as much as the flush creeping across her face. "Well, that's enough about me for now. I'm going to have a dip in the lake before it gets too dark. You might do the same," she said, wrinkling her nose.

He wanted to change the mood as well, and he took the necessary steps to prevent the negativity from escalating. "Are you saying I smell?" He squinted, a small smile turning up his lips.

"Worse than Hammersteed."

His expression turned teasing. "Last one in is a rotten egg!"

She launched from her log and ran toward the lake, stripping off her armor down to her underclothes, and then skimming her hands along the skin of her pale and muscular body. Scars, some old and some new, marred her from shoulder to toe, but they didn't take away from the beauty of her form, only adding to the history Brynjolf imagined as he watched her, knowing he was obviously going to be the rotten egg.

When he finally stood up, he shucked his armor and ran with a speed usually reserved for sprinting away from the Riften guards. As Natasja dipped a toe into the water, she peeked over her shoulder and saw him approaching, all shoulders and chest, with muscles rippling like the small waves on the water she stood in. She felt her own body tighten at the sight, liquid heat beginning to flood her veins. Aware she was gaping at him, she offered a half-smile before diving under the water. When she surfaced, he was there in front of her, rivulets of water sliding down his cheeks.

"Bryn! Gods, you're fast!"

"You were under longer than you realize."

"I know _exactly_ how long I was under." She threw her arms back and floated in the waist deep water, her barely covered breasts bobbing on the surface.

It took everything he had in him not to scoop her up and have his way with her back on shore. Thankfully, the chilly water kept the evidence of his attraction at bay. "It must have snowed early in the hills. This water is a bit cold for me," he said, splashing her face.

"And you call yourself a Nord," she teased. On a whim, she stood and reached out to touch him. She let her hand linger, running it down his arm soothingly, and he didn't rebuff her. She embraced him then, wrapping her arms around his chest, her head nestled into his neck, seeking comfort and peace. She felt him breathe out as he snaked his arms about her waist and pulled her closer for a brief squeeze.

When they loosened their hold on each other, she touched his face, gently guiding it towards her own, and then planted a sweet kiss on his parted lips.

"I see it in your eyes, Brynjolf. You see something you like, beyond a budding master thief."

"You are a stubborn, stubborn woman." He caught her hand and held it. Slowly, he brought it to his lips and kissed it, not taking his eyes from hers. "Let's get back to the fire and explore this… new development."

"My stubbornness has been mentioned by you more than once," she said as he led her to shore. "Is that a bad thing?"

"Not usually. I can appreciate the quality since it is one we share."

A smile stretched across her face. "Then I'm glad it doesn't count against me."

"Not at all," he said, the water splashing around them until they reached the fire.

Brynjolf tossed a large blanket at her and took one for himself. Once she was wrapped up tightly, he laid out their bedrolls and motioned to her to sit by the fire. Together, they watched it slowly burn, both waiting for the other to start. After a minute, Natasja could not remain silent any longer.

"You've seen how I protect myself, so you must know that if I die, it will be because of my own slip-up and not because of you."

"It's more than that, lass. I can give you a dozen reasons for my reluctance." He took her hand in his. "I won't lie and say I haven't grown fond of you these last weeks. But… if it were to become more, if we… It's a dangerous path to tread, lass."

"No more so than any other risk we take every day," she said, poking his arm playfully.

"This could be the biggest mistake of our lives."

"Or it could be the smartest thing we've ever done. You're so fond of telling everyone how short life is. We may never see our next birthdays, Brynjolf. Why can't you just enjoy life's pleasures? Think of how satisfying it would be to have a warm body next to yours at night, a friend to confide in, a partner to pass the time with."

"I already have those things, lass. Why complicate it with… emotions?"

"You know as well as I do that at times, the road is long and dark, and the mountains unscalable. But we keep walking because we're human, and we don't always make perfect choices. We take two steps forward and one step back, but it doesn't really matter. All that really matters is being on the _right_ road."

Not only was he thinking about her constantly, but he was beginning to believe her because he _wanted_ to. Because his awakening feelings for her weren't giving him any other choice. And he worried about her too. "Believing that might prove dangerous, for both of us."

"Bryn-" she started to protest, but he held his hand up to stop her.

"Then make a promise to _me_ ," he said. "And if you keep it, I'll consider what you've said."

"Oh, come on, Brynjolf. We're not haggling over the price of a few potatoes."

Brynjolf's expression was hard and unrelenting **.** "Here are my terms," he said, taking a deep breath. "You promise to tell me one long story about yourself every day until we're back in Riften, and I will… react accordingly, with an open mind."

They sat for a moment, Natasja smiling warily at him, and she was trying to come up with something clever to say, but it never came. She nodded.

"Is that a yes?" he asked when he could breathe again.

"That's a yes," she responded with a grin, her enthusiasm making him smile in spite of himself.

"Good." It was his turn to poke her back. "And another thing… You spout the same foolishness I've heard from Delvin's lips. You haven't fallen for his drivel, have you?"

"Of course I have. Delvin is an inspiration to me," she said with a wink, although Brynjolf had a feeling she wasn't completely lying.

"Don't _ever_ tell him that! His ego is large enough for two men."

"But yours isn't." She met his gaze with promise in her deep blue eyes. "I can count on one hand the men I've met whom I've trusted. And you're there, right on this finger," she said holding up her pointer, then she slowly held one finger out at a time and ticked them off. "And this one… and this one…."

"Ah, you humble me, lass," he murmured as he reached out to draw a finger across her cheek. "I swear you are a temptress, as Delvin said, maybe a witch out to entrap me."

"I am neither a witch nor a temptress. I am only myself."

"And a rare creature you are."

Her smile was beautiful as she reached up and traced his face with the tips of her fingers. "If you truly wish to remain just friends, I will respect your decision." She allowed him to take her into his arms, yet held her head back to stare into his eyes. "But it won't come to that."

"Stubborn _and_ cocky. Those things alone can get you killed."

"So can a woman scorned."

"You are incorrigible," he said, smiling. "You could stay up all night and yammer on, can't you?" She let go a chuckle of sorts, and he sighed, leaning down slowly and brushing his lips across hers. "We'd better get some sleep. I'll keep one eye open and my dagger in hand while you rest." _As if I could sleep right now_ , he thought, finding he could not deny the affect she had on him, and the temptation was making it increasingly more difficult to resist her.

She rolled off the log and onto her bedroll. "I _am_ tired. Will you… sleep next to me?"

"Aye." The dying fire did little to warm him, so he curled up against her, absorbing her warmth. _She's right about having a warm body near_. "But hands off, lass," he ordered sternly, albeit with a smile.

"Killjoy," she whispered. His taste was still on her on her lips, and pleasure mingled with agony as he pressed into her back. "You smell better now, Bryn."

"Smell better and feel better."

She released a throaty moan, which reached deep inside him and tore at his resolve. She wasn't a classic beauty, oozing charm and softness, and she wasn't a lean and graceful duelist who moved like a well-honed assassin. Gods knew what else she had gone through that had changed her into the quarrelsome warrior she was now. But in spite of all that, she was on the verge of making him forget every scrap of common sense he possessed. For all his thoughts to push her away, his hand was still resting on her arm, stroking her soothingly.

"You're cheating now you know," she whispered.

"I am." Strong fingers lingered on her shoulder, stroking it, sending her mind whirling.

"Honesty. Another trait we share."

"Excuse me, but have you seen Natasja?"

Without thinking, she snarled, "Shut up," then softened her approach. "Please, Bryn, I can't… stop touching me."

She felt the low rumble of his laugh against her back. "Not just yet."

"Evil man…."

He traced a finger down a long and narrow puffy scar on her arm.

"… a sabre cat claw." He moved lower, down to her forearm where a smooth circular scar lay. "…a burning coin, applied very slowly and very painfully." Brynjolf had to control the wince she would feel if he drew away. She simply yawned, impassive, her breathing deeper now. He rested his fingers on the back of her hand, his arm wrapped around her, and on his palm, he felt the roughness that encircled her wrist. "… Shackles did that... matches my other wrist…so tired… g'night… Bryn."

He snuggled closer and sighed, a whisper coming from his lips _._ "Sweet dreams, lass."

He didn't see the smile cross her face, but when she squeezed his hand before succumbing to sleep, he felt goose bumps rise on his own flesh.

 _Until tomorrow, my fair temptress_.


	4. One Step Closer

**One Step Closer**

Hours later, Natasja awoke as a cool breeze wafted under the thick sabre skin covering her. Alone on her bedroll, she heard scuffling sounds near the trees. She bolted upright only to see Brynjolf hacking the claw off a mudcrab near their horses.

"Ah ha! Got you, you bastard!" With a proud smile on his face as he held up the claw, he looked over at her. "I've secured breakfast, lass!"

"Great." Mudcrab was the last thing she wanted to eat, having lived on it for weeks at a time. "It's all yours, Brynjolf! I'll just have some of this…." She reached over and tore at the small loaf. "Bread… Stale bread. Great."

The smile on his face widened into a boyish grin. "You don't know what you're missing, lass!" The memory of how her heart had raced the first time she saw him react in the same way flooded her mind; the day she'd successfully planted Madesi's ring on Brand-Shei. Yes, her need was well beyond wanting to feel just any set of strong arms wrapped around her and protecting her. Only Brynjolf's arms would do, and she ached for him to hold her again.

Standing up, she ignored the desire to throw herself at him and shouted instead. "We need to head out if we're going to make Whiterun by nightfall, Bryn!"

"I agree! Pack up and move out!" Without another thought, he tossed the claw over his shoulder and walked toward her.

Restless before her day even began, Natasja set to packing up. She threw what few things she had taken out of her bag, back into it. A small, lavender flower head peeked through the sand when she lifted her bedroll and she paused. It wasn't something she had picked. She glanced over her shoulder at Brynjolf, who was coming toward her and whistling as if he hadn't a care in the world. Could he have…? _No, not a chance. Blown in by the wind, no doubt_.

"Ready yet, lass?" he asked, eying the flower in her hand. "What do you have there?"

"I found this flower in the sand." She slid the stem behind her ear and turned her head so he could see. "What do you think? Too feminine? I mean I'll be in brown armor shortly and it clashes anyway, right?"

He grabbed the rest of the bread from her hand and took a bite. "I didn't realize you cared about making a fashion statement. But the flower is as lovely as the woman it adorns."

"Flatterer." Ignoring the heat rising to her cheeks, she stared him for a long moment. "And just why are you so chipper today?"

"Because I don't have to deal with Mercer's rotten attitude." Her face fell, a forced little smile on her lips. " _And_ , because my travel companion is not as annoying as I thought she'd be."

"That is certainly not a compliment."

"If you want more compliments, I'm afraid you will have to earn them, lass."

"Maybe I've been too quick to befriend you. After all, why pursue the second in command when the Guildmaster is so appealing." _No he isn't! Why did I say that?_

"Chasing me, are you?" The dig at his status in the Guild barely hurt. Her smart mouth, however, drove him to seek her true intentions. "I think you like your men a bit complicated, rather than dull and predictable. Am I right?"

"Tch. You think you're complicated? I had you figured out the day we met, Brynjolf." Turning her back to him, she bent over to pick up her armor. "Although I'd like to stay here and argue with you about what I want in a man, we _should_ go." As she snatched up the armor, a pair of strong arms slipped around her and pulled her back against his hard body. She relaxed into his comforting embrace, allowing the leather to slip from her fingers.

"You are as temperamental as a child," he murmured, his lips brushing her neck and sending shivers down her spine. "And you're wearing that scowl again."

"Not anymore." Sighing, she folded her hands over his and tipped her head to the side, allowing him better access to her neck. "We won't get very far if this continues," she said under her breath. He slid his hands up, resting just below her breasts. When he didn't speak immediately, she glanced up. Awareness jolted through her like a magical energy. His eyes were wide with desire. _Damn him!_ "Why are you teasing me like this?"

"Is that what I'm doing?" His hands moved to her shoulders and down her arms to her wrists.

"How dare you mock me?" She spun around, glaring. "You pushed me away last night," she said as she planted her hands on his chest and pushed his body. It wasn't a strong nudge, but he took a step back. "Not physically, but emotionally. You shut me out." She shoved at his shoulders this time. "If all you need is a woman to bed, why bother with these silly overtures only to decide I'm not worth it? A damn heartless control freak, that's what you are!"

The intense heat of her words smothered him. Worse was how her words stung, more painful than any blow that could mark his body, even though he felt he hadn't shut her out. Not really. _Infuriating woman…._ His hands tightened over hers. "All right, I see your point." A devilish smile stole across his face, but she wasn't about to fall for it this time.

"You tell me to me to keep my hands off you, and then you…." He brought her hands to his lips and kissed her knuckles. "You do that!"

"Forgive me, lass. I feel like…." He paused, uneasy with the thoughts going through his mind.

"Feel like what? Be honest with me, Brynjolf. I've had enough of dishonest men to last me a lifetime!"

"I will, but calm down first."

She was working herself into a greater snit than usual. She tried to pull away, but he held her hands… and smirked. With her whole body's weight, she jerked away and slashed wildly at him, but he caught her again and pinned her arms behind her back. "Natasja…."

Her name fell from his lips like a caress and she stilled. He trailed his lips across her cheek to the curve of her throat. The tender, whisper-soft kisses set her skin ablaze. Senses reeling, all thoughts flew from her head, and she was aware of nothing but him. He kissed her deeply, then forced himself to break away and meet her gaze.

"Bryn, that was… highly inappropriate."

He laughed and seized her curled hands in his. "I thought it was a fitting way to shut you up."

She liked the way his eyes wrinkled just a little at the corners when his mouth curved up into a smile, a smile that had her heart beating out a rhythm against her ribs. The thick fringe of his eyelashes hid his eyes and deep dimples scored his cheeks. But most of all she liked the sound of his laughter, the surprised pleasure in it. "Why are you looking at me like that? What are you thinking?"

"Do you want to know how I feel when I look at you?" Suddenly, her face was in his hands, his voice deep and rough with desire. She waited open-mouthed, holding her breath. "When I look at you… I feel like a starved man who is so confused by the first sight of food that he wants to devour it all in one swallow."

He kissed her, and the kiss was tentative, soft, and achingly gentle at first. But when his arms encircled her and brought her hard against him, she whimpered her surrender. He looked into her eyes boldly, as though asking if she understood.

She understood, far more than she wanted to. He'd laid his desire – no, his heart - bare before her, and she saw in it all that stirred in her own heart: hurt, despair, longing, passion. She smoothed the hair along his cheek and pushed it behind his ear, whispering softly. "That was a hard-earned compliment."

"It was given sincerely."

"Then why postpone the inevitable?"

Good question. This moment never would have occurred in Riften. By the Nine, he was amazed it was occurring at all. He had a good idea what she wanted. But what did he want? He'd always liked to keep things simple. He'd been interested in her from the first day he met her, not even thinking about where it might lead. He'd operated on blind instinct. The chase had been fun because he'd never had to chase a woman before. Did he want her in his life? As his friend and companion, absolutely. The thought of walking away from that camaraderie wasn't acceptable. Did he want her heart as well as her body? More importantly, was he capable of love again? How else could he explain the powerful emotions he felt for her? If his hunger for her was merely carnal desire, it wouldn't touch his heart and mind. But there was no safety in the life they led, no promise of hearth and home, of grandchildren to dote on. So many questions and so few answers. There was nothing simple about it at all.

"Because I don't know if I can risk it."

"Risk what?"

"Caring for a woman only to see her slain."

The brutal honesty in his words caught her off guard; the thud she heard was her heart hitting the ground. She nodded slowly and her lips trembled. "Your love for Anabel did not bring about her death, Brynjolf. And I'm not asking for your love. I don't know if my heart has the capacity for love anyway. I just want… your company, your friendship, and maybe a shoulder to lay my head on every now and again. That's all."

"I can give you what you need, but you may find it is not enough."

"It will be," she said, forcing a smile. "We are more alike than I realized."

"Perhaps. Anyway, we have a job to do." He glanced over at the horses. "We should get going."

She nodded, and they packed up and left the camp in silence.

* * *

After several hours of riding, their heads were still reeling from their earlier conversation, but they both managed to keep their horses at a measured pace, side by side. They made small talk, and Natasja excelled at small talk. She felt at home talking about herbs and wildlife, even local politics. If she also felt a bit let down, he didn't notice and she didn't think about it. But an hour or so from Whiterun, anxiety began to wend its way into her veins.

"Don't you ever get tired of it all, Bryn? I mean, Mercer is an arrogant jackass, the guards are always out to get you, and you barely get any rest. Can't you just take your money and move on?"

It was an easy enough question, and he answered automatically. "If I had the inclination to do so. But even if I had, it's not that easy."

"It _is_ easy. I've done it, more often than I've wanted, but it can be done."

"Once the Guild is on its feet again, I may give it some thought."

"Yeah, yeah, sit and wait for that to happen."

"I do not sit and wait." He leaned sideways, balancing on his horse precariously just to poke her in the arm. "I contemplate while stealing."

"Is that what you call it?" She slapped his arm before he could straighten up. "I call it killing time."

"Isn't that what you're doing? You have such exciting business taking you all over Skyrim, and yet you joined the Guild."

"Strictly a temporary situation, I'm sure," she countered.

"Is it?" His heart sank. She was acting as if what happened at camp meant nothing to her. But he was sending mixed signals of his own, and maybe she just needed to numb herself until this all played out. "And where will you head to after-"

"Did you hear that?" she cut in, and slowed her horse.

Pulling his horse to a stop, he peered through the thick forest along the path and listened, then shook his head. "What did you hear?"

"It was… a woman… screaming." She leapt from her horse and ran in the direction she thought the cry came from.

Brynjolf jumped down and threw both of the horses' reins around a tree. Dashing in the same direction, he couldn't see Natasja anywhere in the dense vegetation, but followed the sounds of leaves and branches being trampled. When he reached Natasja, her sword was buried in a man's skull, splitting his head in two while a young girl cowered near a shrub. He ran to the girl and scanned her for injuries.

"Are you all right, lass?" The girl nodded, unwilling, or unable to speak coherently, tears streaming down her face.

The bandit was dead, yet Natasja continued to stab at his lifeless body with her dagger. Brynjolf saw that the girl beside him was watching in horror, too innocent of age to appreciate how much the man deserved what he had gotten. However, Natasja's wrath was upsetting the child.

"Stop, lass! That's enough!" Natasja continued to stab the body for at least a full minute. Yet the fact that she continued to stab the body wasn't nearly so disturbing as how she began to direct her rage toward a specific part of the body. She was slowing down, though, growing more tired with each thrust, and Brynjolf had to put an end to it. He reached out and took hold of her wrist, and spoke in a commanding tone. "Natasja, stop. She's been through enough," he said as his eyes flicked toward the girl huddled in the underbrush.

Wild eyed, Natasja looked at the girl, and her heart broke instantly. "Is she… did he…?"

"You got to her in time." Brynjolf watched her face. Natasja was unaware she looked so guarded and fearless, and at the same time vulnerable, like a lamb brought to slaughter. As if in a daze, she closed her eyes and began to sway on her feet. Brynjolf grabbed her shoulders. "Natasja!"

Her eyes flew open and she blinked furiously, drawing in a deep breath. "I'm all right," was all she said and she dislodged from his grasp, dropping down beside the girl. "Are you hurt?"

"No," she squeaked.

"Are you from Whiterun?" As she nodded, a tangle of small curls tumbled across her forehead and on to her cheeks. Natasja delicately pushed the knots aside and looked into her frightened eyes.

"She can ride with me," Brynjolf offered with a kind smile. The girl scurried away from Brynjolf when he reached out to pick her up.

Natasja shook her head, silently indicating she would take care of the girl. "What's your name, sweetheart?" Natasja asked as she brushed more leaves from the girl's hair. Reluctant to speak, her eyes darted between Natasja and Brynjolf. "You're safe now, I promise."

Brynjolf was mystified. Within the span of a few minutes, Natasja had acted the part of savage executioner, then softened instantly, seeming as tender as a mother nursing a new babe. A mystery to him from the day he first saw her, she was a mystery to him still. _Had Natasja been raped?_ The possibility had him furious, bloodthirsty even. As harsh as it seemed, he could only hope that it happened to another. But still, if she witnessed it… _Gods, her sister._ When Natasja spoke, he was jolted out of his thoughts.

"You can call me Natasja. What shall I call you, sweetheart?"

"Se… Serena."

"What a pretty name, Serena." Natasja released a held breath and smiled. "And who are your parents?"

"Min and Gerda… Lindgren."

Natasja glanced at Brynjolf. "I know of them. They keep a produce stall in the marketplace." Serena moved a little closer to Natasja. "Come with me. I'll take you home on my beautiful horse, Saturnalia." Natasja leaned in to whisper in her ear. "You can hold her reins." With a small smile, Serena allowed Natasja to hold her hand under the pretense of examining her glove more closely; but Serena did not raise her eyes again, only shuffled alongside Natasja.

The rest of the short journey to Whiterun was quiet. Natasja felt Brynjolf's eyes of upon her often, admiration clear in his gaze every time he offered a sympathetic smile to her _. I guess I'd better prepare for his questions._ Natasja sighed as they approached the Whiterun stables. They took their packs, and once the horses were taken away, began the short walk to the gates of the city, where two guards greeted Natasja enthusiastically.

"If it isn't our fair Thane!" one shouted as he patted Natasja on her shoulder. "What brings you home?" the other asked with a wide grin.

"Just some business. Do me a favor and take this girl to her mother, Gerda Lindgren."

A burly guard bent over and wagged a finger at Serena. "Tryin' to run off again, eh? Your mum will take more than a switch to ya this time."

Natasja saw Serena shudder at his words. "Hear me now, Olaf. You will tell her mother that if she cannot keep her child safe from the scum lurking out here, I will forcibly take Serena away and keep her for my own. You got that?" The guard nodded, a slight twinge of fear on his lip. "And tell her if she lays one hand on that child again, the Thane of Whiterun will have her imprisoned in the dungeons for the rest of her wretched life."

The guard nodded repeatedly. "Understood."

Brynjolf was not entirely surprised by Natasja's threats. However, he wondered how she could make-good on a promise to care for a child. Perhaps it was simply her way of intimidation. In any case, he felt pride swelling in his heart, and questions filling his head.

The guard walked next to Serena and led them through the gates where Natasja veered off and pointed to her house. "It's that one, Bryn." She glanced at the girl and offered a smile just before she reached the front door. Skipping along next to the guard, Serena waved to Natasja and smiled back.

"She'll be fine, lass," Brynjolf said quietly. "We can check on her tomorrow."

Almost overcome with emotion at hearing his comforting words, she fussed with her armor and kept her head down. From deep in a pocket, she pulled out a key and unlocked the door. Tossing her pack to the side, she let out a low moan. "I am worn out."

"No doubt. Not the kind of excitement I enjoy either."

The door slammed shut after she kicked it, and she turned to face Brynjolf. "I imagine you have a few questions burning to be asked."

"Only if you're ready to answer, lass. I'll not pressure you."

She smiled. "Yes, you will. Maybe not vocally, but with those inquisitive stares of yours."

"You can be as open with me as you're comfortable with." She lowered her eyelids and her glance moved sideways to the darkness beyond the stairs. For a moment, he thought she was going to reveal what was on her mind, but she paced to the fireplace and threw some kindling into the hearth.

"First, we need a fire. It's chilly, don't you think? And maybe some mead. There should be a bottle in that cabinet there," she said, pointing across the room.

Brynjolf opened the cupboard, snatched a bottle and two goblets, and returned to her side. "Will this do?" She nodded as she lit the fire, her eyes staring at the small blaze. When he touched her shoulder, she recoiled at the contact. He dropped his hand and she warily glanced at him. "Are you all right, Natasja?"

"Yes. No. I…." She realized that her flinching at his touch caused him upset, and she slumped onto the sofa and sighed. "You must think I'm insane."

"No, that is not the word I'd use. I'd say you are… troubled."

"You're being too kind now, Bryn. Speak plainly with me. "

 _What to ask her first?_ Her emotions were so complex that Brynjolf's heart started to beat unevenly, scared that he would make a mistake whatever question he decided to ask. "Can you tell me why you couldn't stop stabbing that bastard?"

His words were her undoing. Tears filled her eyes and she turned her back on him. This time, when he touched her shoulder, she didn't flinch. She just sat there, her hands covering her face as the tears flowed.

He gathered her into his arms and held her while she cried. "Let it out, lass. It's okay…."

"I did what I thought was right. He deserved to die that way," she said, forcing the words out between sniffles. "But I'm okay, Bryn. Really I am," she murmured. "I suppose I should be angry with myself for frightening Serena, if that's what you want to hear." She drew back a little, a sheepish look in her eyes. "But I'm not sorry I hacked him to pieces."

"You saved her and that's all that matters." His hand covered hers, uncomfortable with her suffering. "And if you think I'm angry with you, you are wrong. Your wellbeing is my only concern." By the fierce look in his eyes, she realized his conviction ran deep in his bones.

She smiled through her tears, wiping a hand carelessly across her eyes. "You'd better watch out, Bryn. A woman could get used to this kind of attention." At that moment, two emotions passed through his gaze: alarm and satisfaction. He remained silent though. "Does that expression mean I've just scared you?"

"Not exactly." He allowed a smile to grow on his face. "I suppose I'm not used to you approving of my actions." She let out a short laugh, and relief flooded his veins. "If you would you like to tell me your story, from the beginning, I will listen. It may help to get it off your chest, lass."

"The beginning.…" She sighed deeply and sat back in the chair, gathering her thoughts. "Well, my father was a blacksmith who had incurred a lot of debt over time. Gambling and women mostly. The men he owed money to came to our house one night while my sister and I were cleaning up the evening meal. After some heated words, they realized he couldn't pay them, so…." Her fingers gripped the arm of the sofa more tightly. "Right in front of us, they cut off my father's hands and then killed my mother."

Brynjolf's shock was nothing compared to the rush of fury burning in his blood. He clenched his fists tightly and said nothing as she continued to stare blankly into the fire, knowing the worst was yet to come.

"While my father bled to death on the floor, they held me, but I fought back. One of them punched me so hard I fell backwards and hit my head on the table, and I was knocked out cold for a few minutes. Meanwhile, Cora had been dragged upstairs and… I heard her screams but I was dizzy, and my eye was swollen shut. I couldn't see and… they overpowered me, of course. I got a pretty good beating before they fled." She sighed, a mixture of exhaustion and despair. "After that, all I could think of was how I was going to make them suffer when I got the chance." The look she gave Brynjolf then was hard, resilient. "Two weeks later, I killed them all. Slowly and painfully. That bastard was lucky today. Anyway, we left Ivarstead and never spoke of that night again."

He moved toward her. _Don't pull away from me_ , he told her silently. _Please, don't pull away from me_. She very nearly did. He saw her muscles tense and thought she was about to get up, but then the tension fell away and her shoulders dropped. He held her, tight as he dared, until she spoke.

"I haven't told anyone about it, until now." Reaching out, she picked up a goblet from the side table. "I'd like some mead, please."

Outrage mixed with compassion still radiated through him, rendering him unable to speak in complete sentences. "Ah… yes." He picked up the bottle next to his foot and poured, scarcely realizing what he was doing. Brynjolf was so visibly stunned, he could only stare at her as she drained her goblet.

In return, her gaze was unbearably soft as it searched his face. "It's all right, Brynjolf." She rested her hand on his forearm. "You can say what's on your mind. I've lived with this long enough to be able to push it back… at least until the next time."

"I'm so sorry. Honestly, lass, I'm not sure what I should say." He realized her ferocity was more a survival instinct than a feigned attitude meant to scare, like so many other women he'd known, including Vex. He took the goblet away from her and set it down, then he covered her hand with his own. "I have to admit, though, I had thought something like that was in your past."

"It seems I'm more obvious than I'd realized. Not surprising I lose at cards often, is it?"

"Delvin did warn me that you cheat a lot."

She laughed then, and it was a real laugh, and not for his benefit. Her resilience was reinforced by his gentle touch, spurring her on, and her laughter dispelled the sorrow she wouldn't let get a hold of her. "It feels good to laugh. But I really don't want our friendship to be based on dreadful stories from our past. Live in the moment, right?"

"Aye, live in the moment."

She caressed his face, her fingers trailing from his temple to his chin, and for a second, she didn't know whether she wanted to kiss him or tell him how hungry she was. Her hand drifted down his chest as she spoke. "I wonder how it is that you've gotten me to tell you things I've never told another soul. Maybe it's because you're so unlike any man I've ever known. Then maybe down deep, you are like all the others. You're… encouraging me, because there's something you want."

"Maybe there is." He embraced her powerfully then, and held her, unyielding, to deepen their connection. With dark eyes and unsteady breaths, he took her hands and held them tightly. "I want to kiss you."

She stilled when she saw him regarding her through intensely serious eyes. "And I want you to kiss me, so much so I can barely think straight," she said in a husky voice while his thumbs continued to draw slow, soothing circles on the backs of her hands. "Although a small part of not being able to think straight has to do with my stomach rumbling, but most of it is because of you," she said as the smile returned to her face.

A combination of heat and humor glinted in his eyes. "We can go up to the inn for some food if you're hungry."

Her expression softened, so enamored by his selflessness. His hands were almost trembling when he cupped her cheeks and studied her face.

"Kiss me first."

And so he did. He kissed her with everything he had come to feel for her. He kissed her in memory of Anabel. He kissed her in memory of all the times Natasja had made him laugh. He kissed her for every time he'd wanted to touch her but hadn't allowed himself to. And, most of all, he kissed her for… well, he didn't want to put a name to the sense of tranquility settling in him yet.

In the frenzy of movements, his hand had found her thigh but went no further. The moment would come soon enough; he knew it would, although it was more and more difficult to keep his desires in check. "Ah, lass, you'll be the death of me."

She laughed, almost bitterly. "There is little left in my heart for any man, Brynjolf, but… what little there is, I have already given to you. And I know you don't want to hear that, but I think it's only fair to tell you the truth now."

"I'd rather you tell me what you feel, and not what you think I want to hear." He regarded her with undisguised affection then. "Perhaps your heart can hold more than you know."

"Can yours?" she blurted. His mouth opened just as a knock on the door startled them, and Brynjolf accidentally kicked over the bottle of mead at his feet. "Blast!"

"There is a cloth in that cupboard there," she said rising from the sofa and gesturing with her hand.

Walking to the door, she stopped to adjust her armor and smiled at the reason for its disarray. Brynjolf was on his hands and knees cleaning up the spill and muttering under his breath. For a moment, she watched him. She was doing a poor job of hiding her fondness for him, taking pleasure in the frustration that tightened his neck.

When he looked up and saw her so pleased, he smiled and spoke in a clear and smooth tone that stirred her heart to race. "The sooner you get rid of that visitor, the sooner we can continue with _our_ night."

Wordless, she blinked and nodded, stunned by his seductive response. She grabbed the doorknob, flinging the door open impatiently.

Curiosity drove Brynjolf to watch as the door opened. Standing there was a large man, all brawn with charcoal-colored hair and shadowy eyes, a giant sword slung across his back. The way he looked at Natasja, with the yellow eyes of a predatory wolf, he knew this man was a lycanthrope. _Damn werewolves_.

"Farkas? How did you know I was here?"

"We have eyes everywhere." Farkas took another step closer to her. "You know that, Tasja."

At hearing his nickname for her, she embraced the dark, hulking man intimately as Brynjolf watched from the hearth. Not wanting to physically intrude on her privacy, he honed in to hear their impending conversation. Natasja spoke in a familiar and soothing voice as she held the werewolf, and Brynjolf knew immediately they had been close friends.

Thankfully, jealousy was not in his nature. Not usually.

But the werewolf's arms were around Natasja and he held her tight, gripping her with such fervor, the embrace seemed passionately aggressive. The urge to go to her was so intense, and Brynjolf had never felt a pull that strong. He couldn't drag his gaze away from them. It took all of his energy, all his mental toughness to keep his feet firmly planted where they were. He picked up a book and started leafing through it, but his eyes rolled up anyway. _Damn it, what am I thinking?_ That was the problem — he wasn't thinking at all. The plain and simple fact was he simply could not stay uninvolved any longer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Sorry to end there, but this chapter was becoming much too long. However, that means the next chapter, **Into the Unknown** , is almost finished. And fear not, I will be getting to some quest action very soon. I just thought it was necessary to set out the relationship between Natasja and Brynjolf clearly, before I could advance the story. In the next chapter, Natasja and Brynjolf come to an understanding. *wink, wink*_


	5. Into the Unknown

Brynjolf still held the book in his hand as he watched Natasha and Farkas. They were holding each other in what Brynjolf thought was the longest embrace he'd ever seen. He thumbed through the book during the long silence, then tossed it onto the side table with a thud. _That should do it_.

Hearing the loud clunk, Farkas finally let her go with a despondent smile.

Natasja looked into his eyes, and the confident look she had seen moments ago was gone. It was replaced with a glassy stare she'd seen once before; when she had told him she could not return his affections. Guilt settled in the pit of her stomach. "It _is_ good to see you, Farkas." She stared at him, studying his face, and then she took his hand in hers. "The lycan curse still afflicts you, I see."

"It does. No one has made it back from the Glenmoril Coven alive, let alone with the head of a witch. Without your assistance, we are not quite as capable, it seems."

"I'm sorry I left as I did. But don't you try going there alone. Maybe I could…" She glanced at Brynjolf. He smiled at her and pointed to the fire to indicate he was keeping busy tending it. He looked uncomfortable, but pleasant enough. _What is he thinking? Oh, shit.._.. She had communicated to Farkas with much more than just words, and she saw that Brynjolf knew what they were saying, even if he didn't understand it word for word. "Well, I'll see what I can do after I accomplish a few things here first."

"Have you come back to us then, Tajsa?" Farkas pressed her hand to his chest, wanting to make a stronger bond than their greeting allowed. "We miss you. _I_ miss you."

Natasja let her hand slip from Farkas's. "I can't stay in Whiterun. But I'd like to visit you while I'm here," she whispered to him before moving away. "Why don't you tell me how business has been?"

Farkas looked beyond her shoulder, and catching Brynjolf's eye, tipped his head as a greeting. It was Brynjolf's chance to throw himself into the mix.

"Not the same without you," Farkas sighed. "But we have food on the tables and blades on our backs, so I can't complain."

Brynjolf approached them with arms outstretched. "Who is your friend, lass?" His eyes fixed on Natasja with a searching stare.

"Ah, how rude of me." She shook her head, then smiled and gestured toward her friend. "This is Farkas, and Farkas, this is Brynjolf, from Riften. I apologize for not introducing you two already."

"Riften? A seedy town as I recall."

"I find it has a lot of character," Natasja said as she smiled at Brynjolf.

Farkas was too busy giving Brynjolf the once-over to see her flirtation, noting his armor with a sneer. "Thieves Guild, eh?" He looked at her, trying to keep his voice steady. "Is that what you're doing now, Tasja? Stealing like a common criminal?"

Brynjolf's jaw tightened at Farkas's demeaning tone. Natasja seemed nonplussed, but Brynjolf saw her clench her fist after she ran her hand down the back of her head.

"Come on, Farkas. I've done what I've had to do, just as I did for the Companions _._ "

"I suppose it's better than joining the Brotherhood, although not by much."

Natasja's face fell. Farkas's disappointment in her choices weighed heavily upon her once again. "I'm sorry you don't approve, but it _is_ my choice."

"You're different, Tasja. What has happened to you that you'd fall in with the likes of treacherous thieves?"

"Farkas, please. Don't give me the innocent routine," she said softly, not wanting their conversation to escalate into an argument. Natasja shifted her weight restlessly from one booted foot to the other and raised both hands to comb her hair back. "We all have a dark side. You know this better than most."

She and Farkas were speaking as if Brynjolf wasn't even present in the room. Brynjolf moved closer, dislike for the werewolf driving him on. By the Divines, was he jealous? He'd never been jealous over a woman before. But this time, he couldn't ignore the truth - he was tired of hearing her apologize and sick of seeing her smile at the beast. Brynjolf placed himself between the two. "Natasja's had a long day and she's rather tired tonight. Maybe it's best you leave, friend."

Farkas scowled at Brynjolf. "You're no friend of mine. Back off, thief," he warned in a voice that Natasja scarcely recognized as his.

"Don't get your hackles up on my account, boys."

The statement had just left her mouth when Brynjolf's body went rigid with aggression. Natasja put her hand on his arm, and almost as fast as Brynjolf had flared up, he realized what he might be starting, and what it might be doing to Natasja. He reined in his anger and took a small step to the side, but kept a hand on his sheathed dagger.

The werewolf ignored Brynjolf completely. Natasja smiled at Farkas again, so charmingly that Farkas involuntarily smiled back.

"Ah, Tasja. I'm sorry. I just wanted to come here and see how my favorite Thane was faring." Farkas's eyes narrowed as he glanced at Brynjolf. "Come by and catch up soon."

"I promise I will." Natasja laid her hand on Farkas's arm, her touch almost weightless. Leaning forward, she looked into his eyes with her most persuasive smile. "And make sure Vilkas knows I'm coming, too. I need some of his expert advice," she said with a little sadness in her voice. As Farkas left, he waved to her and she responded in kind. "And watch out for spiders, Farkas!"

His face lit up at her sarcastic remark. "And you watch out for those damned crickets!"

Natasja closed the door with a mournful sigh. Her thoughts of Brynjolf's intervention fell somewhere between annoyed and flattered. Struggling to overcome the disapproving emotions simmering inside her, she turned and… _Damn him and that roguish smile_.

"Honestly, Bryn, I don't need you get involved in my affairs," she said, rather tersely.

His nostrils flared and the resentment in his narrowed eyes had changed to an emotion decidedly more... jealous. "Affairs?"

"Not those kind of affairs." She rolled her eyes. "Although obviously you realize Farkas and I were involved, but it was mostly platonic."

"You don't have to tell me about any dalliance with _him_."

"Fine! Then I won't," she snapped. "But I'm well known here, so _don't_ get involved in my dealings with these people."

"Sorry, lass, but that's like asking me not to breathe. I'll stay back, in the periphery, but I'll make no promises where your welfare is concerned."

"Damn it, Brynjolf, you're not my father! You're not even-" She stopped. He looked as if he were about to laugh, but the smile on his face did little to hide the overprotectiveness in his eyes. "Look, I don't mind a little manly bravado, but I don't like the 'oh, you poor defenseless girl' innuendo!" She frowned, and he saw something building in her, something heated.

"You have _got_ to relax Natasja. I do not, and will never, see you as helpless. But you are my protégé, if you recall. I am merely taking responsibility for you, keeping a woman, who will someday be a highly profitable thief, from harm."

"No one in Whiterun will hurt me," she said confidently. "And I'm already profitable."

"And valuable. And I intended that to be a compliment, so stop your pouting."

"I am not pouting. I'm just tired of your covert plans to -"

"Gods, woman!" he interrupted. "Can't you just be quiet for _one_ bloody minute?" He cupped her cheeks tenderly, as if holding a fragile treasure, and stared into her eyes. "I have no covert plans, by the way. Unless you count this."

The press of his lips on hers startled her as he claimed her mouth hard and groaned into her lips as they parted beneath his. The kiss told her more clearly than words how valuable she was - to him. When the kiss ended, a sigh escaped her lips before she gazed at him. When she saw the look of possession in his dark eyes, for once, that look didn't bother her. Instead, it made her feel safe and secure. And it seduced her.

"Were you poor when you were young?" she blurted.

"What? You're asking if I was poor? After that kiss?" He laughed at her eager expression, then acknowledged the truth. "Actually my family was rather well off."

"I thought as much. Maybe you can tell me something about your childhood over supper. Do you have any stories that are entertaining and not tragic?"

_Talos, she's putting my patience to the test_. "I can think of a few to amuse you with."

Her smile lit up her whole face as she pulled him toward her and gave him a warm hug. "Thank you, Brynjolf," she whispered to him. Her whole body relaxed in his arms and he groaned softly against her, as if he too was fighting a battle that was hopelessly lost. "Thanks for everything." Her sweet sentiment was somewhat ruined by the sudden rumble of his stomach.

"Come on, lass. My stomach is complaining nearly as loud as yours now." _Damn_.

He held the door and shuffled her outside. Arm in arm, they walked the short distance to the Bannered Mare, until Natasja stopped in her tracks just before the stairs leading to the inn.

"Bryn, I almost forgot. We need to speak with Mallus Maccius."

He ran his fingers through his hair and closed his eyes tightly. "Gods, I forgot too. You _are_ a distraction, it seems."

She opened her mouth to speak when she heard someone rushing toward them.

"Psst!" Natasja spun around and saw an Imperial man matching the description of Maccius, who worked for the Honningbrew Meadery.

"You must be Maccius."

"I am. But I don't have much time. Here's what you have to do." He glanced around nervously, and then spoke quickly, his words streaming out. "Talk to Sabjorn so you can get the key to the basement of the meadery. Clear out the skeevers he's having a problem with and then poison the vat. That simple. Got it?"

"Yes, but-"

"Gotta run. Uh oh, here she comes!" Maccius fled as a woman came running toward him waving a wooden spoon in her hand and shouting obscenities.

"Strange man," Natasja said to Brynjolf. "Well, that seems easy enough."

"Aye, it does, but do you see what happens when you let a woman have the mistaken idea that she should have a say?"

Natasja punched him in the arm, hard. "Chauvinist!"

"Oy! That hurt. I demand an apology, woman!"

She stomped up the steps and into the Bannered Mare in silence.

Once inside, Ysolda immediately greeted Natasja. Ysolda, the annoying merchant whose only concern was to take over the lucrative inn should its owner, Hulda, die a sudden death. Natasja was mildly surprised Ysolda hadn't found a way to remove Hulda from ownership yet.

"Still hanging around and waiting for Hulda to drop dead?"

"Well, if it isn't Natasja Black-Nail, our fair Thane come to set this city to rights." Ysolda wasn't looking at Natasja as she spoke, but instead, eyed Brynjolf appraisingly.

Natasja tensed and bit her lip, and for a moment, Brynjolf sensed she was about to strike the woman, but Natasja's temper was fleeting. He relaxed then, just a little. "Well, good to see you, Ysolda, but-"

"And who is this handsome man you're with?" she interrupted.

"My name is Brynjolf," he answered, his smooth voice sickening Natasja. "It's a pleasure, lass."

"Oh, my dear man, you can come to my house and call me 'lass' any time. And here's the key," she said reaching into a pocket.

Brynjolf held up his hand. "No, no. That won't be necessary. I am… unavailable for such things."

"Is that a fact?" Brynjolf's eyes darted to his left to catch Natasja's eye, but she turned and scanned the inn for a free table. "It seems Natasja has you under her thumb the same as she had Farkas."

Sighing impatiently, Natasja began to move toward an empty table. "That is enough, Ysolda. You knew nothing of me then, and you know nothing of me now."

"I know how Farkas pined for you when you disappeared," she spoke up loudly. "But don't worry about him. He spends his time with more… respectable women now."

Natasja stepped in front of Ysolda with deliberate contempt. "Do not test me," she threatened with a fierce glare. "Now leave us." Ysolda grumbled in protest, but wandered off toward the bar all the same.

"What was all that about?" Brynjolf asked.

"She's just mad at me." She motioned to a table in the corner of the dining room.

He pulled out the chair for her and said, "My lady…." Then he watched as she sank into the chair with less grace than most women he'd seen. "And why is she mad?"

"Because I never helped her to trade sleeping tree sap with the Khajiiti. Nasty business, that is."

"She almost sounded like a scorned lover."

"Did she? I'm not familiar with scorned lovers," she said dismissively. If he was curious about her statement, he let it pass. And she was glad. Despite the fact that they'd discussed serious topics prior to their arrival, Brynjolf had been surprisingly calm. And she didn't want that to change, at least not yet. Brynjolf waved over a server and ordered lamb stew and ale for both of them. "I _love_ lamb. How did you know?"

"I didn't. It was a guess," he said. "And I intend to pay for the meals as well, so don't get all riled up later."

"A proper courting then?"

"Perhaps. Or maybe it's just my way of thanking you for your… hospitality."

Her muscles tensed and she had to force herself to sit still. "The rooms are pretty cheap here should you find yourself without a roof over your head tonight."

"Relax, lass." He took her hand and threaded his fingers between hers. "I'm just trying to show you how tame I can be."

If she hadn't been so edgy, she might have laughed aloud. Just when she thought she was figuring him out, she realized she didn't really understand him at all. She knew that she wanted him to accept her though, and not be spooked by her. "I think you're about as tame as the north wind before a storm."

"You'll just have to wait and see."

She tried to ignore the heat beginning to spread from the hand he was holding to her wrist, up her arm, and straight to her face. With perfect timing, a server came by and set down two ales and two bowls of stew on the table, and she let go of him to take a long, refreshing drink. "So, regale me with a childhood yarn, Bryn."

"I'll give you a choice between two stories." He scratched his stubble thoughtfully. "The first is a sad and heartbreaking tale of a boy's first love for a priestess at the tender age of eleven. The second, and far more compelling story, is of a dashing young scamp's first time stealing a horse." Brynjolf was sure she would choose the story of his ascent to horse thief, so he sat back and crossed his arms over his chest.

Natasja laughed at him. "I'm betting you think I want to hear about the horse. But… I think I'd like to know a little more about an innocent and tender-hearted young Brynjolf."

"Now, lass, I was more or less joking about that one," he said, leaning forward.

"Oh no, you can't back out now. You offered and I chose. So get going with the story while I'll eat my stew." His smile disappeared, his thoughts protected by his guarded expression. She lifted her hand and pondered if she should ask again, then rested her hand on top of his with a gentle smile. "Come on, Bryn. I'd really like to hear about you as a boy."

With so unassuming and yet so inspiring a touch, how could he refuse her? Another realization struck him hard then. Brynjolf was a fearless man normally, but Natasja's presence gave him a different kind of courage, a courage that inspired him to take a deep breath and let her inside his head, if only for a few minutes. "All right. I'll tell the story for you, lass."

She looked as excited as a child anticipating a treat. "Get on with it already."

"Well, as you can imagine, I learned to pickpocket at an early age, and one day I chose the wrong target. My mother."

"No, you didn't!"

"Aye, and it was a mistake that haunted me for years. She dragged me to the chapel to atone for my wicked sins. That's when I saw the most beautiful and angelic creature who walked the lands of Tamriel. She was a priestess of Mara with a heart of gold, and her name was Britta."

She listened and watched him, loving the sound of his voice, and deciding it was the most masculine voice she had ever heard, deep in tone and clear in resonance. He was never at a loss for words either, speaking articulately and always with an unmistaken air of command.

On and on he continued, observing that she listened to his every word with rapt attention, taking only a mouthful of stew when he stopped to sip his ale. It provoked in him a nagging envy of her time spent with Farkas; time he wished he had been a part of.

Smitten beyond reason, she gazed at him as the tale ended. "I love that story, Bryn. It's the kind of tale you tell your children when they're sitting on your knee and listening in silent awe." She saw a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He was pleased with her compliment. Very pleased.

"Now you know the reason my pickpocket skills are lacking today."

"Yes, and I promise I will never make fun of you again." Her brows narrowed for a moment. "Does Delvin know that story?"

"Gods, no! And he never will." His eyes demanded her subsequent silence. "Isn't that right, lass?" Silence was all he got from her, accompanied by a mischievous grin. "I can see you need to be convinced of my veiled threat," he said with a hint of wickedness in his darkened gaze.

Ignoring the shiver of anticipation that shot through her, she thought about how he'd had unlimited possibilities growing up. Why he chose to become a thief puzzled her to no end. "Brynjolf, forgive me if I sound insulting, but you could have been anything you wanted in life. You're intelligent and intuitive, a natural leader. I can see you leading armies into battle or as a successful shopkeeper, or a bard even. Just about anything but a thief."

"I could say the same of you."

"But you had a loving family and the coin for education. I envy you that. I suppose you think a normal life would have become tiresome after a while. I never had normal, only… upheaval."

"I've had my share of troubles as well. My family wasn't always supportive of my hobbies."

"Hobbies? You're funny," she laughed. "I have to say the Guild members are a welcoming crew. I suspect that familial relationship is quite enjoyable."

"It is, and you are part of us now too. Never forget that, Natasja."

"I won't forget it, no matter where fate sends me." Her face tightened, and she pushed her bowl away and made to stand up. "For now, I think fate is sending me home to get some sleep. We've got a long day ahead of us tomorrow."

"Aye, I'm tired too."

"How tired?" she asked, giving him a half- smile, a mischievous glint in her eye.

He grinned and leapt from his chair, throwing down more than enough coin to cover their meals. "That all depends on you." He took her hand and led her out the door, and then to the side of the building. It was dark now, but she looked around anyway, on the chance that someone was watching.

A groan broke from him as he captured her lips in a feverish kiss. Desire, simmering for so long inside of him, burst to life.

She slid her hands up across his chest, along the strong lines of his neck, and into his hair. "Brynjolf, if you mean to tease me, please don't."

What he felt for her - what he wanted from her - was so much more than sex, no matter how remarkable the sex may be. He still wouldn't put a name to the emotion ripping up from his gut into his chest, making every breath an effort of willpower. And he feared what he did want. But he also reveled in it.

"I don't want just a few stolen moments tonight. I want you completely, and free of fear."

"I don't fear you. I fear…." Her throat closed, the admission on the tip of her tongue, embarrassing her.

"You fear being intimate with me?"

"It's been a long time, and it was quick and it… it only happened twice," she said, sounding surprised, as if he should have known.

"Then I will show you how it _should_ be," he promised as he stroked her hair. "I'll make you feel as you've _never_ felt before. Trust me."

"I do trust you." Staring into his self-assured eyes, she soon found herself being led away.

They raced to her home and she flung open the door, tangled in his arms. She'd left a lamp burning in the room, and only that faint glow kept the room from being totally dark. He shoved her inside and slammed the door behind them.

When his mouth closed over hers and his tongue teased her lips she felt a fire blazing through her so hotly that she must have radiated heat. But she fought the overwhelming passion that swarmed her senses and blurred her rational mind. "The spare room is at the top of the stairs on the left," she panted, and slowly turned her head to look away.

Before her eyes left his, he took her chin in hand, and forced her head up. "Do not turn away from me again," he growled, tangling his hands in her hair. He kissed her, sweeping through her mouth, sucking her tongue, igniting passion in her once more. With a moan, she leaned into him and kissed him until he pulled back. "No more teasing. We're well beyond that point now."

She made a sound that was half a moan of delight and half his name as she flattened her hands against his chest, enjoying the strong beat of his heart beneath her touch.

"Tell me what you want me to do," he said, command clear in his voice. Pulling her arms over her head, he pinned her to the wall with one hand. "Tell me, Natasja."

A wave of arousal raced through her body when he pressed into her. He kissed his way down her throat and she arched to give him better contact. He left hot kisses that spiked a shiver down her spine and she shuddered at the heavy glide of his hand up her thigh.

"Tell me what you want, Natasja, and say it now, or I swear to Talos, I'll walk out the door and never look back."

"No! Don't leave." She threaded her hands in his hair to pull him closer, and every thought she'd had of him poured out from deep within her soul. "I want more than the dream of you to keep me warm tonight," she whispered. "I want you to touch me. I want you to show me what it can be like, because I really don't know. I want you to hold me and tell me I matter to you. I want you to give me this one night…."

"Not just one night." Delight and relief flooded through him in equal measure. "I don't think I will tire of you any time soon. But, just to be clear…." He kissed along her jaw. "I _will_ touch you… here." His tongue teased her lips farther apart until he finally took her mouth in a passionate kiss. He left her mouth to trace the firm, pale flesh of her neck. "And here." His hands slipped under her shirt and rose to the silky warmth of her breasts. "And here…"

Sensing the moment was right, he grabbed the lantern from the side table. "Now, come with me, lass."

Her knees went weak. She nodded, unable to speak as he led her up the stairs. Her breath came just a little quicker as they walked past the spare room, heading for the larger bed. Her bed.

Taking her by the arms, he pulled her closer, then caressed her face and kissed her. His hand slipped under her shirt again, moving up to stop just beneath her breast, his thumb gently moving back and forth on the tender skin. She met his gaze in the dimming light of the lantern.

"Brynjolf… I've never wanted a man as much as I want you. Never."

"And you will have me. But first…." With a reassuring smile, he pulled her shirt over her head and tossed it on the floor next to them, and she all but purred when his hands roamed over her flesh. "Shall I continue?"

"Definitely." She stayed still as his mouth moved over hers hungrily, stealing her breath as he made short work of her remaining clothes. Naked before him, he ran his warm hands over her skin, caressing her shoulders, her arms, her back. Shivers of delight washed over her, and she leaned forward to kiss him, her mouth hungry for his taste. Effortlessly, he lifted her up and carried her toward the bed. With a gentle touch, he placed her down and removed his clothes faster than she thought was possible. He lay down beside her, resting his head on his hand, and he gazed at her.

"If that's all you intend to do, then you can go right back to the Bannered Mare."

He had to smile at her impudence. "I want to remember how you look right now, naked and dreamy-eyed, so… willing. Have you any idea how hard it's been for me to hold you in my arms and yet not be able to do this?"

With the lightest of strokes, he traced a delicate path from her cheek, to her jaw, down her neck, caressing across her until he reached the peak of one breast. "… to touch you here," he said into her ear, his voice and his hands leaving her breathless. He squeezed and pinched, and felt her squirm and tremble beneath his ministrations. "...and here." Her eyelids fluttered while he stared at her, his eyes blazing with passion.

As she lay exposed, a moment of panic consumed her at the promise of what he was about to do. She closed her eyes and pulled him to her with soft murmurs of endearments, and he whispered her name as he kissed her face. She was not afraid, for she wanted this, wanted him too much to be truly afraid. It was the unknown that had her so uneasy.

She melted into him and arched her back, pressing against his body, his taut muscle and heated skin, his long, hard… Her eyes flew open. She gasped and wriggled against the hardness that rested between her legs. He kissed her, calming her and enflaming her all at once. His eyes bore into hers and she could not look away, no longer wanting to keep her emotions hidden from him.

He moved his hand down and touched her, and she gasped when she felt him explore the slick wetness between her thighs. Her anxiety quickly faded. With his free hand, he gripped her thigh, and raised it. She lifted it higher, and wrapped her leg around his hips, urging him against her body. Arms and legs tangled, hands and lips everywhere, seeking and touching, taking and giving, their movements a prelude of things to come. Lost in a world of pleasure, she was beyond conscious thought, her mind, her heart, and her soul focused intently on each new sensation his touch evoked.

She moaned as he ran his tongue around her ear and whispered, his voice hoarse with desire. "Natasja?"

She knew what he asked. "Yes," she breathed so low she wasn't sure if he heard her.

His arms tightened around her, his eyes still on hers. He heard.

She hooked her arms around his neck loosely and stared up into his eyes. His hand caressed her breasts, and his body surged with an ache to fill her. In one smooth, fierce stroke, he slid into her, hard and swift, and she cried out before she could stop herself. Her mouth sought his and they kissed, their lips and bodies fitting together perfectly as if they were two halves of the same whole. The sensations began to soar and she moved with him in a slow, sensuous push and pull of their bodies as he took her with long, sweet thrusts.

As their pace increased, their enthusiasm neared a fever pitch as they drew closer and closer to finding release. Awash in pleasure and blissful sensations and feelings that had no name, she thought she might faint. So she held onto Brynjolf's strong shoulders, the only stable element in her spinning world. She was overcome with waves of the most intense pleasure she had ever known as he strained his body against hers.

Her name fell from his lips like a chant of worship, his every muscle tightening as he shook and trembled with release. With a moan low in his throat, he lost himself in her. He heard her cry out his name as she clung to him and shuddered uncontrollably beneath him. He pulled her to him, feeling closer, more connected to her than he had to anyone in a long time. Breathing as heavily as she was, he held her, brushing kisses to her forehead and whispering her name until he collapsed next to her.

Languid and basking in the divine weakness that crept over her body, she curled up next to him. Brynjolf drew her into his arms and kissed her tenderly with the kind of kisses that would be burned forever into her memory. His fingers caressed her face, and she smiled at him.

"You're so quiet, lass. It's odd not to hear you yammering on about something."

She let go an uncharacteristic giggle as he rolled onto his back. She curled her leg over his thighs and stretched her arm across his bare chest. "Bryn, I am… you are… Gods, I don't know what to say."

She swore she could hear a smile spread across his face. But he was silent in the faint shadows, and she listened intently, waiting for his voice to confirm her thoughts.

"So that was good for you? Better than you expected?"

"Oh yes. So much better."

"As I knew it would be."

"You are an arrogant man."

"I am a _happy_ man."

"You are? Truly?"

He moved onto his side and gave her a soft peck on the lips. "I am also an honest man. Never question anything I say to you again."

"I won't," she said. "And Bryn?"

"Yes?"

"Are you very sleepy?"

"No," he admitted, and added hopefully, "Do you have some mischief in mind?"

"In a manner of speaking," she said, and there in the dimly lit room, they grinned at each other in a moment of comfortable and blissful accord.


	6. Rodents and Reality

Brynjolf's arms were wrapped around Natasja when she awoke the following morning. She almost pinched herself, wondering if the previous night was a fantastic hallucination. Carefully rolling over, she reached out a hand to touch his face and felt the stubble beneath her palm, further confirming she and Brynjolf had been together intimately. They had made – no, no, they'd had sex. She didn't dare think that other, overused, and idealistic word. _Mara forbid I fall in love with this man._ The inevitability of her disappearing one day, leaving his side to follow the Dragonborn calling, was more than enough reason to maintain some distance, for both their sakes. _Best to keep things casual_.

She poked his shoulder. "Wake up, thief. We have to get moving."

"What… what's going on?" he said, still not quite awake.

"The sun has been up a while." She slipped out of his arms and bent down, reaching for her underclothes. "We better head to the meadery soon."

"You're a slave driver, lass," he complained, rubbing his eyes. "Why don't you come under here with me for a few minutes more?" Gazing at her like a ravenous wolf, he fluffed the heavy sabre cat skin, flashing an eyeful of his bareness. He watched a small wrinkle appear on her forehead as she mulled over his question.

As Natasja put on her underclothes, she shook her head. "I didn't take you for a man who would lounge around in bed. Are you always this lazy?"

"Are you always this cranky?" With sudden strength, Brynjolf lunged forward and pulled her on top of him, her arms sprawling on his chest and her legs straddling his thighs. She felt his hardness against her belly as his hands raked up through her hair, the strands threading through his fingers. "Didn't you sleep well, Natasja?"

Without thinking, she buried her face in between his neck and shoulders as his hands caressed her hips, tugging at her underclothes. "Actually, I slept very well."

"Aye." His voice thickened as his hand slipped under the waistband, curving across her bare bottom. "Me too."

"All the more reason to-"

He brought her lips crashing down on his, not allowing her any further response. Using an unrepentant thrust of his tongue to part her lips, he kissed her in a way he hoped would tell her the feelings he wasn't ready to proclaim out loud.

"Please… no more." Nearly breathless, Natasja seized with apprehension. "We should focus on the task at hand," she said, her body tensing. He felt it then, the distance in her words, in her aloof stare, as if she had disassociated herself from him in that moment.

_I won't let you forget…._ "Perhaps we'll have something to celebrate tonight. Then you can buy _me_ dinner." With a sweet smile, he reached up to touch her face. "I'll supply the dessert."

She pulled away from his touch, her face flushed, but emotionless. "Don't get your hopes up. Last night was nice, but I think we both know doing that again would be a mistake." She tried for an obstinate posture, but her voice was far too shaky to be convincing.

"Don't play coy with me, lass. I know you enjoyed yourself."

Her eyes widened and her shoulders straightened, her chin held high. "Honestly, I don't know what got into me last night. I'm not the type of woman who..." She coughed, trying to clear a sudden catch in her throat. "I don't fall into bed with men I hardly know."

"We are far from strangers, Natasja."

She wished he wouldn't say her name. She's always thought it so dull and common, but on his lips it sounded exotic and forbidden, as if it belonged to someone she didn't know. "Maybe not strangers, but I know very little about you."

He rested his head atop his crossed arms, but he was far from relaxed. "Nonetheless, last night was not a casual experience for you."

"But it was for you, wasn't it? I suppose you've slept with more women than you can count."

Her words bit deep into a place he rarely acknowledged to himself and certainly never would to anyone else. The space between them became a frosty rift, swallowing up every bit of warmth he tried to express _._ Of course, he wasn't a coward. If anything, he was the exact opposite, a man who continually took risks for the highs they gave him. Therefore, he ignored her snappish tone, and following his own impulse, he caught her wrists and held them.

"Good sex is one of life's greatest pleasures, lass. More often than not, sex has been like a snack for me, inadequate, quick and with little planning. But last night was a gourmet meal, inspired and deliberate… and enchanting."

She yanked her hands away, heat rushing into her face. "I suggest you get used to being disappointed with your meals then." Her tone was icy, but at odds with the heated passion in her eyes.

The variable frost and fire in her gaze was what had drawn him to her in the first place, it was what made him realize that, somehow, he had been given a second chance, a reprieve from the guilt of Anabel's death. This was his chance to wipe the slate clean and begin again, to fulfill a dream he'd only had in the darkest hours of the night.

He stood up, his head spinning with resentment, frustration, desire, and a continuing fascination with this woman who, despite her cool demeanor, affected his every thought and action. "I've never been a man to back down from a challenge, lass, or to make noble gestures. But make no mistake. I do want you, and for more than one night."

She made a soft, disapproving noise from the back of her throat, but when she lifted her eyes, she saw the tenderness in his gaze, and she raised her face to his, hungry for his kiss. Before she could think it through, she was leaning toward him. The smell of him, the taste, the feel of his skin was all she could comprehend. She melted against him and felt herself sinking.

"How do you do this to me?" she whispered. "How do you make me want the things I thought I had put aside years ago?"

"Because I've offered them to you freely, without fear or favor. I know we've not spoken this way to each other, but I know you feel what I feel. And that's enough for now, isn't it?"

She looked up at him and frowned. "No matter how… surprising the circumstances are, I will acknowledge that some greater force, perhaps the gods, brought us together. But that same force might pull me away in time. And there are specific reasons for my hesitation, things I'm reluctant to tell you. If I did tell you, you wouldn't be so willing to accept me."

"You underestimate me, lass. I recognize your qualities, both good and bad, and I accept you as you are."

"The odds are against us, Bryn. How can you be so confident?"

"Sure, there are no guarantees in life. But everything has a way of working out for the best. If you told me what it is that has you so concerned…."

"I don't want anything to happen to you, Brynjolf. You've been a good friend to me and, well… just don't ask me…." she trailed off, pursing her lips together tightly.

What was she keeping from him, and why? Certainly, it was more than her feelings for him. Maybe it was her way of telling him he should mind his own business. Was he pushing her too fast? _Blast._ _To oblivion with my unfounded thoughts_. "I have done terrible things in my lifetime too, Natasja, and there's nothing you can tell me that will make me run off. Whatever you've done, whatever has happened to you, and whatever your future plans are, I've no intention of holding anything against you. When you are ready to share with me, I'll be here. It's that simple."

"But it's not simple. This," she gestured between them, "is all fine and good for one night, but… oh, just leave me alone for a while. Please."

She couldn't bear to look at the hurt on his face, so she turned away, afraid to speak, fearing that if she did, she would take back her words, the Dragonborn mantle be damned. One day he would hear her shout the Thu'um. It was inevitable. And then what? She strode toward her armor on the floor, picked it up, and headed for the stairs in silence, sickened by her blood and her soul, her _gift_. Being the Dragonborn was no gift; it was a curse.

All he could do now was watch and wait for what was coming next. "I'd like to eat something before we leave." She stopped and looked at him, having already retreated into her usual cold observational posture. "That is if it's all right with you," he said, somewhat curtly. He appeared thoughtful and deliberate, but there was a hard look in his eyes and an edge in his tone suggesting he was more than disappointed with her reaction.

"Of course. I'm rather hungry too," was all she said, and then she descended the stairs.

* * *

Natasja was pleasant yet remote as they walked the short distance to the Honningbrew Meadery. She pointed out various edible plants and made small talk, and they went over the plans for poisoning the main vat. When they finally stepped inside the sales building, they were greeted by the smell of skeever turds as evidenced at various locations on the floor, along with one dead skeever right in front of them. Behind the counter and flipping through a ledger, was a balding Nord. Natasja and Brynjolf exchanged revolted glances, and she silently indicated she would address the man.

"What are you two gawking at?" Sabjorn squinted, his eyes assessing them. "Are you here to buy some mead or are you just going to stand there?"

"The rumors are true then?" Natasja asked.

His head snapped up to face her, his eyes flashing annoyance. "Of course! Just look at this place. I'm supposed to hold a tasting of the new Honningbrew Reserve for the Captain of the Guard this afternoon, and if he sees the meadery in this state, I'll be ruined."

"Can't you poison the vermin?"

"Do I look like the kind of man who could run around the tunnels and successfully make it out alive?"

"Perhaps we can help you out," she said, "for a small fee of course."

"Right. A _small_ fee. You rid the meadery of those beasts and I'll have a reasonable payment waiting for you right here."

Natasja moved forward and pinned Sabjorn with a menacing glare. "You'll give me half the money now or I'll shout "skeever" from the lookout towers."

"Fine. Here's your damn coin," he spat, slapping a pouch down on the counter. "Just don't come back until every last one of them is dead." He handed her a vial of dark liquid. "Take this and poison their nests."

"This meadery will be the toast of the town when we're through." She shook the vial and grinned.

"Get on with it then. Commander Caius will be here soon and I want _you_ to tell him the meadery is free of those filthy beasts."

Natasja nodded, turning on her heel and headed for the basement.

"Keep your eyes open and your mouth shut when we get in there, lass," Brynjolf spoke up from behind her.

"So, you _are_ tired of me already." She smiled but there was a chill in her eyes he couldn't miss.

"Not yet, but we can't risk one of us falling due to distraction."

"Then perhaps you'd like to take the lead? This way, you don't have to watch my back." It was not meant to be a flirtation, but her response sounded more provocative than she intended.

A wicked smile crossed Brynjolf's lips. "For a woman, you have some pretty good ideas."

She scoffed at his tease, but in her own defiant manner. "Have you ever heard this one? A man is like a fine wine. He starts out like a grape, and it's a woman's job to stomp on him and keep him in the dark until he matures into something you'd like to have dinner with."

"Then I've matured already, given our dinner last night."

She gasped with laughter as she put her hands on her hips. "You are insufferable!"

He thrust his face in front of hers. "And you are insufferably amusing."

Her hair brushed across the side of his face as she turned with a sharp exhale of breath. "Just… get in front of me."

He did as commanded, leading the way through the twisting tunnels with an ease born of long practice, the future profits calling to him. Killing every skeever and destroying their nests was easy enough. As they pressed on, the skeevers thinned out, until they approached an open space.

Coming around the corner, Natasja could hear the mumblings of… someone. "Bryn, someone's down here," she whispered. She sensed danger but allowed him to lead on in the damp, foul-smelling earth of the cavernous labyrinth.

A crackle of magical energy in the air surged from the left, making Brynjolf's hair stand on end. Natasja and Brynjolf danced to the right. An old man in tattered mage robes stood before them, and at his sides, his hands were wreathed in a fiery light.

"Watch out!" Brynjolf shouted as a fireball aimed at Natasja came dangerously close to incinerating her. She continued to advance on the mage despite Brynjolf's shouts. "Don't be a hero, Natasja! Get behind that wall!"

"Are you afraid? Come on, Bryn! Show me what you've got!"

Her dark, provoking laugh was not amusing him. "Get behind him!" Brynjolf sprinted to the mage's right and stunned him with a blow to the head.

Natasja somersaulted and jumped to her feet behind the mage, slicing her blade down his spine. The old man crumpled to the ground with a low moan.

Brynjolf crossed his arms to keep them from flailing about. "What in bloody blazes is wrong with you, woman? Do you have a death wish?"

He was looking at her uncertainly and she forced a smile. "Oh, come on. It was fun, wasn't it?"

" _Fun_?" he said, mystified. "My idea of fun is more in line with last night's activities. What you just did was foolish and dangerous."

She winced at the sharpness in his voice and her eyes met his piercing glare. "Well, I'm sorry you feel that way. Next time I'm running errands for _your_ guild, I'll go alone. Or better yet, I'll take someone more pleasant to be around!"

"Now, lass, don't be insulted, and don't scowl at me like that. You could have been killed and you know it."

"But I wasn't, so just drop it."

He stood there smiling at her like some kind of idiot. He thought they were both fools, spinning like tops out of control, risking life and limb every day, and for what? _More coin than most have these days. Retirement may not be such a bad thing, though…._ "Do me a favor and save the death defying routine for a time when I'm not around, lass."

"Fine." She should have been flattered, but his concern rubbed her the wrong way. _Why is that?_ she thought. _Stupid men and their stupid observations._ "Let's finish this damn job already."

Ten minutes later, they were finally rewarded by the sight of a doorway, which led to the boilery. Brynjolf looked at her with a wide smile. "And here we are, lass."

There was a slight movement behind him, and then she saw the vile beast raise its head and eye Brynjolf with its teeth bared. "Bryn! Behind you!"

The skeever launched and attached itself to the back of Brynjolf's calf, taking him down to the ground as he shouted a profanity. Natasja chopped it in half with one swing of her sword and fell to her knees beside Brynjolf, tossing the bloodied weapon next to her.

"Let me take a look…."

"Ah! Easy, lass." Brynjolf winced as she pushed him onto his stomach to examine the injury. "How does it look?"

"It tore right through your armor."

"I am aware of that," he groaned. "It was a venomfang skeever, lass. You have to suck out the venom."

"Pardon me? _Suck_ out the venom?" With wild eyes and mouth agape, she stared at him. "I will do _no_ such thing!"

"If you don't, I'll never make it back to Whiterun. The poison will damage my muscles beyond repair. You _must_ do it, and now!"

She had to save him, and for reasons well beyond the guild's interests. "Gods, I hate you right now, Brynjolf."

"And will that ever change?"

Her glare disappeared, replaced with utter shock. "How can you joke right now?" Her heart was still pounding out of control, her pulse racing.

"I'm trying to keep you calm," he said, but the strength in his voice was fading.

She shook her head and grimaced. "Just tell me what to do."

"Putting poison in your mouth is not a good thing. Do you have any scratches in your mouth?"

"I don't know!"

"Grab that bottle of mead and rinse your mouth first, then cut open the wound."

"Won't the cut make you bleed more? Then you risk infection."

"It will become infected anyway, but at least you can get out some of the venom this way. You must hurry, Natasja. Take your dagger and cut!"

He looked so pale, so near to passing out, so near… death. She pressed her lips together to cut off a sob of panic. He's stubborn, she reminded herself. When he accepted a mission, he succeeded, whatever the cost. And she did too.

"Damn it, Bryn, I feel like throwing up right now."

"Stay calm, lass. It's simple. Cut, suck, and then spit it all out and swish the mead around in your mouth for a while."

"Oh, is that all? I bloody hate you."

"You mentioned that already."

Damn his smile and his wit and the ease with which he could find the humor in anything. She pulled out her dagger and poured some mead on it. "I don't know why I agreed to this," she muttered as she stuck the tip of her dagger into his flesh, her stomach lurching sickeningly. She took a deep breath, trying to take control of her emotions. "Damn Mercer and his stupid ideas." Brynjolf didn't wince then, but when she wrapped her lips around the wound and began to suck, she heard him moan.

"Mmm, lass… those sounds you're making…. Under any other circumstance, I'd have had my way with you already."

She spat a thick, disgusting mix of blood and venom beside him and wiped the back of her hand across her mouth. "One more comment like that and I'll leave you down here to die." She swished some mead around her mouth, making sure it reached every curve. Sorely tempted to spit in his face, she glared at him again and spat on the ground. "I've got to get to the boiler to pour the poison into the vat."

Ignoring her haste to finish the job, his only thought right then was for her health. "Forget the poison for a minute and rinse your mouth again. Then pour some mead on my wound."

She saw he was concerned for her, and she tried to make him feel at ease by assuming a seriousness and indifference that she was certainly not feeling. "I hope it stings you like a son-of-a-bitch." Her eyes flashed with something akin to anger for a moment, but soon her look turned apologetic when she saw him cringe from the pain. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean that. Are you all right, Bryn?"

"I'm fine," he said. "And thank you. I know that was difficult for you."

"Not so difficult," she whispered back. Brynjolf thought he caught a ghost of a smile curving her mouth, but then it straightened. "Do you want to stay here for a few minutes, or can you follow me if I help you or maybe-"

"Just do it and come right back. And don't forget to flush the system and force the poisoned mead through the lines."

"How can I forget that?" She rolled her eyes. "I'll be back as fast as I can, and then we'll get out of this hole in the ground."

"We'll need to attend the tasting. By then the poison will have clouded my mind some and I should have no trouble passing for a drunken fool."

"Don't say things like that. I'm worried about-" _You!_ she thought angrily. "…about getting this job done and getting out in one piece."

"I'm flattered you care, lass." The corners of his mouth hitched up in a teasing grin.

She huffed. "Don't be."

"And don't _you_ overreact. We'll be fine."

Pulling her hand from a pocket, she placed a vial in his hands. "Drink this." Worry for him pulsed through her, making her shake with the intensity of it. She stood up, her face pale and tight with anxiety. "Just… don't do anything stupid if that energy potion perks you up a little." He smiled as her eyes pleaded openly with him, and then she dropped her gaze and hurried to the boilery.

Waiting for her to return, a sour, queasy feeling crept over him, along with an odd combination of excitement and dread. "Damn skeevers," he mumbled to himself. Aside from his current predicament, he had to admit he'd enjoyed all the time he'd spent with her so far. But he thought about her words that morning and the frustration rose again. "Damn my expectations. She made her feelings pretty clear this morning. Then again, last night she indicated something very different."

Nothing could have prepared him for the hunger he felt for her last night, the shock of desire as she lay naked and eager next to him. In spite of having had numerous women wake up beside him since Anabel's death, he hadn't felt so connected, so peaceful and happy. Yet he knew they both had secrets keeping them apart, and that worried him. But at the same time, beneath the trepidation, exhilaration stirred. Now he knew exactly why she was vacillating; they were more alike than he'd realized. A sudden surge of hope sprang from his discontent. He'd draw her to him; coax her out of her shell with every passionate skill he'd mastered. He wouldn't forget what they shared, and he'd make damn sure she didn't forget either.

The door flew open and Natasja bounded toward him, her heart pounding and lungs burning. "Job's done. Can you get up?" she said coolly. A small smile played on his lips, and she got the impression her calm demeanor didn't fool him one bit.

"I cannot. You'll need to support me, lass." He slurred his words a bit and he was sweating and pallid. Touching his forehead, she noted he was feverish too.

She helped him to his feet, and steadied him as they walked past the vats. "We can leave through the exit there." She was almost pleased when she heard him groan. "Drink this. It will perk you up again." He downed the vial and a small amount of color returned to his cheeks.

She put her arm around him as they left the building, and she pressed close to his side. That cheered him up, and he began to think of ways to make the most of her closeness. It only took a few steps to realize he could not take advantage of her care.

"Sorry, lass. Sorry you have to bear the burden in all this."

"I had it coming. You helped me once before, remember?"

"Aye. A banner day that was, eh?" He leaned heavily on her as they walked inside the meadery and headed for Sabjorn at the counter. Commander Caius was inspecting the barrels of mead across the room, and barely spared a glance toward them.

"Job's finished," Natasja whispered to Sabjorn.

Sabjorn motioned toward Brynjolf. "What's with him?"

"Oh, he sampled some mead. Quite a lot actually."

"Sabjorn!" Commander Caius bellowed. "How about I get a taste of your mead now?"

Natasja held Brynjolf upright, resting her head between his shoulders. His labored breathing had her worried, but she said nothing while she listened to Sabjorn and the Commander.

"I think you'll find it quite pleasing to your palate. Help yourself, milord."

Caius filled a goblet and took a long drink. His nose wrinkled and his face contorted, then he spat out the liquid onto the floor. "By the Eight! What's in this? You assured me this place was clean!"

"What… what do you mean? I don't understand!" Sabjorn looked at Natajsa and Brynjolf, a frantic look on his face. "Tell him you cleared out the problem!" Natasja simply shrugged. Brynjolf's condition wasn't improving and she was as all the more impatient to leave.

"You!" Caius shouted as he pointed at Mallus Maccius, who had slipped into the room. "You're in charge here until this is sorted out. Now move Sabjorn. You'll be rotting in the dungeons for this, you idiot!" Caius pushed Sabjorn out the door as Maccius approached Natasja.

"I don't think that could have gone any better," said Maccius, narrowing his stare on Brynjolf. "What's wrong with him?"

"He was bitten by a skeever. I've got to get him back to Whiterun quickly, but I need to search Sabjorn's office first."

"Sure, here's the key. I'm sure you'll find what you need upstairs."

Natasja lowered Brynjolf onto a chair and his head lolled. "Bryn, I'll be right back. Rest your head on the table."

"Aye… Hurry… back."

Brynjolf was fading again, and Natasja had never felt so helpless before. As fast as her feet could move, she ran upstairs and found a promissory note in the dresser, but wasted no time reading it and stuffed into her pocket. With a quick sweep of the room, she snatched a Honningbrew Decanter she thought Delvin might like, then raced back to Brynjolf.

"I've got the evidence. Ready to go?"

"Always."

She smiled and lifted him, snaking an arm around his waist, and leading him to the door.

"Don't forget to put in a good word for me with Maven!" Mallus shouted. Natasja nodded and began the brief walk back to town, Brynjolf staggering alongside her.

* * *

Sweaty and limping their way up the steep cobblestone street toward her house, she was more miserable on the short hike back to Whiterun than she'd been crawling through the tunnels of the meadery. Rain fell in the distance and dark clouds hung low as the thunder rolled overhead. The town was quiet, dreadfully quiet, and waiting for the storm to break loose. Brynjolf was straining to stay awake, and she bore almost his full weight as they reached her door.

"Bryn, you have to stay awake, damn it!"

Natasja saw a local man walking by, and she shouted to him. "You there! Fetch me a healer from the temple this instant and you'll have more coin than you've ever dreamed of."

Recognizing her, the man's eyes lit up. "Right away, Thane!"

"As soon as we get inside," she said to Brynjolf, "I'll give you some mandrake root." She shuffled him through the door, leaving it wide open for easy entry as she repressed the nausea roiling her stomach. "Why we didn't take it to begin with is beyond me, but it should clear your mind and blood of any disease. Then the healer can tend to your muscles and cast a restoration spell."

"I'd like some more of your charming bedside manner first," he muttered.

"You'll get nothing of the sort. Now do as I say and stay awake." She slapped his face then, in light, short bursts at first, but when it didn't seem to do much, she gave him another slap, harder this time.

"Oi! You like it a bit rough then, eh?"

Happy as she was to hear him teasing, the urgency of the moment did not allow her time to relax. "Damn you, Brynjolf. Stop joking around."

"Who's joking?" His eyes began to close as she settled him on the couch.

She sprinted to a cabinet and grabbed the mandrake, then carefully, she put the root to his lips. "Chew some of this and then swallow it." He did as he was told, and within a few minutes, the cloudiness in his eyes began to clear. Natasja also ate a few bites of the root vegetable, for good measure. "Bryn, you have to stay focused on me."

"Ah… much better. Thank you, lass." He blinked as the mandrake took effect, a slight smile coming to his lips as he stared at Natasja. Then he braced his arms, trying to get up, but she laid a gentle hand on his thigh.

"Give it a few minutes, Brynjolf, please," she said, trying not to show her concern. "My nursing skills were already put to the test today."

"Stendarr have mercy." He winced from the pain. The additional pain, from the continual pounding in his head, didn't help. "My leg is throbbing, lass."

"A healer will be here any minute." Motion near the door caught her eye as the healer entered. "Finally! Over here," she said, waving frantically.

"I am Tanille, from the temple," she young healer said, then she dropped to her knees beside Brynjolf. The crystals in her hands glowed, and her face tightened with concentration. "Ataxis _and_ poison." Natasja eyes flew to Tanille's face, her worry plain. "This will heal him. He'll be back to normal in an hour or so."

Brynjolf felt a jolt and then the sizzling tingle of a powerful current passing though his muscles as Tanille touched his legs. Natasja stared at Brynjolf for a moment, her hand clasped with his. Relief flooded through her when she saw the healing energy flow through him. All the suppressed anxiety seemed to burst from her at once. She shook with convulsive sobs for what seemed like several minutes, then stopped abruptly when she saw the man who had secured the healer hold out his hand for payment.

When she looked at Brynjolf, he was flexing his leg, extending it, and trying to stretch out the aching muscles. _Thank the Gods_. The color was returning to his cheeks, although he still felt a little clammy when she laid her palm on his forehead. _He'll be fine… he will be fine_.

Natasja tossed the man a small pouch laden with coin and gave Tanille a full pouch as well. "Thank you both." Her eyes darted between the healer and the man. "Please, leave us now."

"Keep him awake for a few minutes to make sure he has fully come back to his senses," Tanille said, shifting awkwardly.

"I will. Thank you again." As the healer closed the door, Natasja took a deep breath and closed her eyes for a moment.

"Scared you, did I?" Her eyes popped open to see Brynjolf smiling at her. He spoke soft and low, his voice gravelly. "Don't worry, lass. I'll be ready for that dinner you owe me later."

"One thing at a time. Let's sit you up." She wrapped her arms around his waist and pulled him up. Surprisingly, he had regained a fair amount of strength and was able to adjust himself into a comfortable position.

He took her hand in his and held it tightly. "Were those tears for me, lass?" He fixed his piercing eyes upon hers.

"Yes," she answered, staring at their entwined fingers, and she nodded. "For you… mostly."

"And why is that?"

"Because I… Because you were right, Bryn. I thought about what you said this morning. I don't want either of us to get hurt, but I can't deny what I feel for you." She turned serious. This was a precious moment, perhaps one she was waiting for her entire life. She was about to take charge of her life and make a decision that would affect her for the rest of it, however long that may be. "I do want you in my life, and on whatever terms you say."

"Terms? No terms are needed. It can be frustrating, but I think if we take it slow, we won't regret anything in the long run. Do you agree?"

She saw he still appeared rather dismayed even though his features had mellowed a little. He held his breath and waited for her answer with a warm smile and quick squeeze of her hand.

"I meant what I said before." Her eyes met his, calm and clear. "So yes, I agree."

"I knew you'd see reason eventually." He sounded vastly relieved his insight had proved true. Using more strength than he should have, he lifted his face to hers and gave her a tender kiss. "But I am rather tired… I'd like to rest a while…."

"Not yet. The healer said to keep you awake, and that is exactly what I'm going to do. How about…?" Her eye began to twitch, and her booted foot tapped loudly on the floor. "I know, let's… let's play a game. I'll say a word and you say the first word that comes to mind."

"Oh yes, that sounds _so_ tempting." He gave her a saucy wink.

"Stop it, Bryn. You're in no shape for that kind of activity." She pushed his roaming hand away. "Okay, my word is candle." His eyes were closing, and he offered no response as beads of sweat dripped from his forehead. "I said candle, Bryn!" _Don't panic. It takes time to heal…._

"Gods, lass… you don't have to shout. Candle, hm? Flame."

"Hot."

"Fire," he said with a low rumble.

"Dragon."

"Born."

_If you only knew…._ She was almost comfortable enough to tell him the truth about her destiny, and to admit it to herself. If only it could always be like this. If only she could trust he would always want to be this close to her. Then she could give their relationship a proper chance. Nothing would compare to the pain she would feel if she invested her heart and found herself rejected. So she simply said, "Puppy."

"Lost"

She traced her finger along the cleft of his chin, starting at the bottom and moving up to his lips, her finger pausing there to be kissed. "Found."

"Aye." He closed his eyes and sighed. She thought he'd fallen asleep, but then his lips moved. "Your turn, lass. I said 'aye'."

"Ear?" she said with a smirk.

"I'll let that one go," he said, grinning. "Music."

"Dance."

"Slow."

The only thing Natasja wanted at that moment was Brynjolf's hands on her, but she'd have to wait, so she opted for something simpler. "Kiss."

"Later," he said with a wave of his finger.

"Now."

She reached out to cup his head in her hands and drew him in for a kiss. Her lips brushed over his in a quick, gentle caress meant to tease him. She wanted him to kiss her back, of course, and when he didn't cooperate, she brushed her lips over his once again. "It's a new beginning," she said in a whisper. "And I still owe you dinner. Do you have any plans tonight?"

He lifted an eyebrow. "For you, I'll cancel them." He pulled her into his arms and kissed her, holding her so tight she almost couldn't breathe, but she didn't care. She felt safe and protected and desired, all her senses aware of how much he wanted her.

"You sleep a little first," she said as she stroked his hair. Guiding his shoulders, she pulled his back against her chest, letting his head rest upon her. "How's that?"

"Much better." Closing his eyes, Brynjolf savored the comforting spell cast by her fingertips caressing his face. She kissed his forehead and ran her hand up under his shirt, and his breathing turned slow and heavy with the warmth of her touch. He drifted to sleep with the soothing sound of her voice in his ear, the chaos of the day a distant memory.

Natasja looked at the darkened sky through the window as the rain came down. _Gods, guide me through the storms of life…._


	7. What Doesn't Kill Us

The rain had subsided to a drizzle by the time Natasja eased out from behind Brynjolf, but the sky was still gray. A chill crept under the door, and Natasja shivered. Carefully, she rearranged him on the couch, resting his head on a pillow and allowing his legs to hang off the edge. She stood and stretched, then wrapped a light fur around her shoulders, smiling at Brynjolf's peaceful repose. _If only we could stay like this…._

Sighing, she reached into her pocket and pulled out the promissory note she'd lifted at the meadery.

_Within the enclosed crate, you'll find the final payment. As we discussed, Honningbrew Meadery should now begin brewing mead at full production. In regard to your concerns about interference from Maven Black-Briar, I can assure you that I'll do everything in my power to keep her assets and her cronies at bay. This is the beginning of a long and successful future for both of us_.

At the top of the note was the same symbol she had seen on the Goldenglow Estate's bill of sale, and on the back, a name was scratched almost illegibly. _Gajul-Lei._ "Must be an Argonian," she mumbled, louder than she intended, causing Brynjolf to stir.

"What have you got there?" He rolled his head around his shoulders and stifled a yawn.

"Oh, Bryn, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to wake you yet." She walked toward him with a relieved smile on her lips.

"I feel fine now. No worries, lass." He shot up from the couch and shook out his arms and legs.

She waved the document at him. "It's the promissory note from Sabjorn's office."

"Let me take a look at it." He took it in his hand, and then scanned the note quickly. "The same symbol again." Tapping the parchment, his mind labored for a possible recollection of the emblem, but none would come.

Natasja peered at the note again. "I've seen just about every seal from the guilds and associations throughout Skyrim, but that one does not ring a bell."

"No, it's not a guild I know of either," he said, his head snapping up to look at her. "But there is mention of a Gajul-Lei on the back here. He's an old fence the Guild has been allied with for years. His real name is Gulum-Ei, that Argonian snake. Mercer is not going to be surprised to hear this either."

"Mercer is never surprised or impressed by anything."

" _You_ impressed him, lass. Never doubt it. But he needs to know about this. I expect he'll want you to chase after Gulum-Ei too. We should leave for Riften tomorrow at first light," he rattled on with a glint of triumph and pride in his eye, and an almost giddy lilt to his voice.

Natasja wondered how he could be so keyed up about any of this. "Gods, Bryn, are you really that excited to go back there?"

"We're so close to the truth behind whoever is trying to drive a wedge between the Guild and Maven. Doesn't that get you all fired up?"

"Not if it means I'll have to go without you," she pouted. "And I'm sure Mercer will _not_ let you go anywhere with me again."

"Well now, lass, you've come a long way in a short time." He poked her arm. "I'm moved by your admission."

"Don't tease me, Bryn. I said it without thinking." A shy smile came to her lips. "Even if I do mean it."

"And I'm serious as well." He leaned in to her and swept a tender kiss across her lips. "You'll need to very careful with that lizard. There are thieves and then there is Gulum-Ei. No honor, no code at all. He'd shake your hand and stab you in the back at the same time."

"Great. That's the type of person I always seem to run in to these days."

"Are you speaking of me, lass?"

"Of course not, Bryn. Why would you say that?" Her voice rose in pitch, and confusion. She bit her lip, as if considering saying something more. He smiled at her, a flash of white teeth, and something fast and wolfish making her catch her breath. "Oh, you're teasing me again!"

"Why so serious?" he asked as his hands kneaded her shoulders, but he stopped short and raised an eyebrow. "Gods, Natasja, you feel so tense. Are you all right?"

"I _am_ tense. Can you blame me after what happened today?"

"Look ahead, lass, not back. You have to learn to let things go."

"I know," she sighed. Thinking it over, she realized she needed an outlet to express some of these feelings in an atmosphere where other people made no judgments. "Bryn, would you mind if I went to visit the folks at Jorrvaskr in a little while?"

"Not at all." What few friends she had were like a security blanket, protecting her, and keeping her grounded. How could he deny her that? "I know you promised to visit them."

She smiled in relief and placed her hand atop his on her shoulder. "I want you to come with me, Bryn. Just promise to keep it civil with Farkas."

"I am nothing if not diplomatic," he reassured her. "In the meantime, is there anything I can do to help you relax?" He ran his thumb along her jaw line, his gaze caring.

His gentle touch shook her more thoroughly than if he had done anything else. "Maybe… How are your massage skills?" she asked, her voice grown small yet needy.

He stood looking at her for an interminable moment, his face very unreadable.

"Do I detect a bit of frustration in your tone?" He dipped his head and murmured into her ear. "I have many skills, Natasja, massage being one of my finer talents. These hands right here," he whispered as he wiggled his fingers in front of her eyes, "are worth more than their weight in gold."

She laughed at his boast. "Then what do _you_ propose doing about my current condition?"

"I think a little afternoon delight is order."

"But you must be famished."

"Likely to perish, in fact." Starving for her, as he hadn't for any other woman in so long, he pulled her close to him. "I will always make time to properly care for your… _aching_ muscles." Enclosing her in his arms, he kissed her so softly and tenderly, she moaned. "Now, follow me, lass."

Taking her hand, he led her up the stairs in silence, and didn't kiss her again until they reached the top landing. This time, it was long and lingering, a kiss that spoke of the depth of his feelings. With a haste borne of their earlier perils, they stripped off each other's clothing and dove onto the bed.

"I don't want the first course to ruin your appetite for supper," she teased.

"Don't you know the meaning of insatiable, lass?" His gaze was fierce, piercing even. He lowered his lips to hers for a kiss that was no less powerful, no less intense, than before.

Natasja closed her eyes and fell into the blissful abyss where nothing existed but their tender whispers and their joined bodies.

* * *

As the rainstorm blew out, Natasja and Brynjolf ate a small meal to tide them over until supper. Near the day's end, Brynjolf found himself with his arms crossed and leaning against a column, watching Natasja as she sparred with Vilkas in the Companion's training area. Natasja made eye contact with Brynjolf, and he acknowledged her with a lift of his chin and a small smile. Like everything about him, it was a restrained gesture, but it was comforting as well.

"She'll never be as skilled as Vilkas, no matter how hard she tries," Farkas said, sneaking up behind Brynjolf.

Startled but remaining motionless, Brynjolf spoke calmly. "I'd wager she may die trying."

Farkas harrumphed. "I couldn't get her to see reason where danger was concerned either."

_Best to make friendly talk with this one._ With a sidelong glance, Brynjolf said, "You know her well. Do you think she has a death wish?"

Farkas watched Natasja and pondered on the question, briefly wondering about the Nord's apparent fondness for her. "Considering what she is, I'd say no. Then again, maybe that's why she risks her life so often."

"What she is?" Brynjolf asked with knitted brows. "Aside from a skilled warrior, what else is she?"

"Come off it, thief. It's not every day someone with the special skills of the-"

"Farkas! Did you see that, brother? She almost bested me!" A proud grin spread across Vilkas's face as the student boldly smiled at the teacher.

Brynjolf was still staring at Farkas, waiting for him to finish his sentence. "Farkas, finish what you were saying about Natasja."

"I think you'd better ask her about it," Farkas said while holding back what he really wanted to say. "Go get him, Tasja!" he shouted with a huge smile. "He deserves a proper ass kicking!"

"And I need a rest," she said, huffing as she climbed the stairs to the dining alcove. "I'll let him think he's won for now."

"I did win!"

"Blow for blow, I had more points than you," she asserted with an amused chuckle. "But I know how fragile your ego is, Wolfy." She rolled her eyes and glanced at Brynjolf with a caring smile. "You want to have a go at me, too, Bryn?"

"No, no," he said distractedly, his hands held out in front of him. Brynjolf had become totally confused; he had no idea what Farkas was talking about.

Natasja waited for a teasing quip, but it never came. "That's all? No jokes?"

"Ah, well… given my earlier injuries, I make a much better observer than a fighter right now." It was good to see her so happy and relaxed. And to a degree, it was selfishly comforting to know he was more capable of putting that smile on her face than any other. However, he couldn't stop thinking about what Farkas said, and didn't say.

"You're just chicken," she whispered jokingly, but she was looking at Farkas with a barely concealed admiration in her eyes that stabbed at Brynjolf, until she turned to face him.

Natasja wanted to embrace Brynjolf, but thought better of it with Farkas standing by and looking so protective. Instead, she squeezed his forearm until he met her eyes, letting her hand linger for an extra moment. It did very little to reassure him, but a great deal to arouse him.

"So," Brynjolf started, pushing back the urge to sweep her off her feet and carry her back to bed for a second time. "What are your plans now, lass?"

"I want to check on the Lindgrens' daughter, Serena, and make sure her mother knows my threats were very real. And then I believe I owe you supper," she said, smiling at Brynjolf. "Hey Farkas, would you like to come with us?"

"Sure I would," Farkas said agreeably, although his eyes were wide.

Brynjolf sensed Farkas's surprise at her offer. Despite feeling uneasy about Natasja being around the werewolf, and having questions of his own he wanted answered, Brynjolf knew she needed some time alone with him. "You know, I think I'll head to your house for a while, lass. You can catch up with your friend without any interruption from me."

Pleased with his generous support, she did embrace him this time, and whispered in his ear. "That's sweet of you, Brynjolf. I promise I won't be long."

"I'll hold you to that," Brynjolf said.

Farkas watched as they looked into each other's eyes, their familiarity obvious as if they had been lovers for years. Natasja continued to stare at Brynjolf as he walked away, a reverent smile on her lips. Farkas sighed.

"Are you sure about him, Tasja? I can see he cares for you, but still, that Thieves Guild has powerful enemies. Is he worth the risk?"

For some reason, Natasja didn't bristle. Maybe it was the seriousness, the genuine concern in his tone. "You and the Companions were worth the risk. The rewards are always greater when risk is involved."

"You're still as stubborn as the day we met." He wrapped his arm around her shoulder and squeezed. "And I'd have you no other way." For a scant moment, their eyes met and he saw the regret washing over her, the awkwardness—and he hated it. Damn, he wished things were different. And once more, he wished he were different. He nodded to her. _It's going to be okay_ , he thought, and hoped she would read his mind or at least his expression. "Don't worry so much, Tasja. It'll make you look like an old hag before you hit my age."

"Ah, you're not so old, my friend." The silence dragged on for almost a minute as they walked toward the Lindgren's home, a long grind of time where she refused to meet his eyes again.

"So, tell me," he said, breaking the quiet between them. "What's this threat you had the guard give the Lindgren woman?"

"I said if she ever raised a hand to Serena again, I'd lock her in the dungeons and take Serena away from here. I'll be damned if I let her suffer under the rule of a woman like that."

"You've always had a soft spot for children."

"Who better to protect her than me, right?"

"Aye. The mighty Dragonborn. You'd have to find a suitable family for her if it ever came to that."

"Please, Farkas. Keep your voice down," she scolded. "I don't need to be reminded of it either."

"It's not much of secret around here, you know." The instant he stopped walking, she knew what his next words would be. "Your thief doesn't know that you're the Dragonborn, does he?"

"No, not yet," she sighed. "And don't say anything, Farkas. I'm just not ready to tell him yet."

"He doesn't seem the type to run off just because of that. What are you afraid of?"

"I want some time before I have to face that future. I want to live a little, have some fun. Is that so wrong?"

"Nothing wrong with having fun, but if I were him, I'd consider it a pretty lame excuse for hiding the truth."

"I know it's lame. But how do I tell him? Oh, by the way, I have the blood of a dragon and I suck out their souls when I kill them. So I'll be busy saving Skyrim from destruction for a while. Thanks for the good times, but I have to go now." She sighed again, so heavily Farkas felt his heart constrict.

"Tasja, if he means anything to you, anything at all, you owe it to him to tell him the truth. He's been around long enough to understand."

An idea struck her as she looked at him. "Maybe if he heard it from you or maybe if he heard a whispered rumor…."

"Come on, you have more balls than any woman I know," he scoffed. "Maybe even most men. But if he _doesn't_ hear it from you, there's a chance he'll hear it around Whiterun and that'll piss him off more than your waiting this long."

"Do you remember how you reacted when you found out?" she asked. "You didn't speak to me for two days."

"Because you were intentionally misleading and I thought our friendship meant more to you at the time."

"It did! It still does." She rubbed her temples, her eyes closing briefly. "I'm worried he'll only see me as a Dragonborn and not as just a woman."

"Give us men some credit, Tasja. We're not all block-headed."

"I should have stayed here. Perhaps I…." She slumped against a tree, lost in her recriminations. "I am sorry about... well, you know."

"Stop feeling sorry for yourself, Tasja. Tell him and be done with it." He took her by the shoulders and turned her to face him. The gleam in his eyes turned to something that looked like fear. "And then promise me you'll take care of yourself when you leave here."

"I will. Anything else, Father?"

"Yes. Don't get mixed up with the Dark Brotherhood. I guarantee they'll learn about you in time, and they'll send someone to bring you in to their lair. The coin will be tempting, but blood money is not worth the guilt that will affect you forever. Don't fall for their murderous cloak-and-dagger routine."

"Oh, Farkas, you're such a good and sensible man, more so than you ever get credit for."

"Nah. I just know common sense isn't all that common these days."

Then her mood shifted. "I'll be leaving for Riften tomorrow morning. The information I recovered is very important to the Guild. But the next time I travel near Whiterun, we'll see about getting you the cure. I am sorry."

"Will you stop apologizing already? I've lived with it this long. I can wait."

"Gods, I've missed you, Farkas," she told him quietly. "You've been a friend to me always, and I want you to know I'm eternally grateful."

If he blushed, she couldn't see it under his dark skin, but there was a slightly embarrassed hesitation in his response. "Just… don't let those thieves push you around, Tasja. I'd wager there are rats among them. People are always looking out for their own interests, so you'd best keep your wits about you."

"Brynjolf isn't like that."

"No, I don't suspect he is. But mark my words, somewhere down the road you're bound to find out a dirty secret or two among them."

"I hope you're wrong, but I'll keep my eyes open," she said as they reached the Lindgren house.

"Natasja!" The young girl ran out from behind a bush, slammed into her, and threw her arms around her waist.

"Well hello, sweetheart." Natasja pulled back and looked her over, happy to see her in good spirits. "And how are you faring, little princess."

"My hen laid an egg today and Mummy says I can keep the chick this time. I'm going to name her Natasja, after you!"

She laughed at the girl's innocent joy. "I've never had a chick named after me. I'm honored. So tell me, where is your mother?"

"Oh, she's inside making me some treats. Would you like one?"

"I'd love one. But why don't you show my friend your egg. His name is Farkas," she said, pushing him toward Serena. "I'll call you inside in a little bit."

"Okay," she chirped, and led a smiling Farkas toward the chicken coop.

Natasja stood before the front door, rapping twice. As the door opened, a bony woman with a wear-worn face invited her inside with a short wave of her hand.

"Go ahead and say it," Gerda said. "As if I need to hear your damn threats again."

"Threats that will come to pass if you don't properly care for that child. I have no interest in a conversation with you either. So are we clear here?"

"Very. Now get your fat ass out of my house."

With wild eyes, Natasja pushed the woman against the door and held her there. "You are a foul-mouthed shrew who doesn't deserve a child. Make no mistake, woman, I will take Serena away from you if I hear of _any_ wrongdoing on your part. I may not be staying in Whiterun, but I have eyes everywhere. You'd best not forget that." A terrified look crossed Gerda's face and she nodded vigorously. "Smart woman." Natasja backed off and flung open the door, storming out in search of Serena and Farkas.

"Farkas!"

Serena dragged Farkas toward Natasja, giggling along the way. Natasja had to smile at the expression Farkas wore. He was way out of his element, but managed to act like a doting parent somehow, poking Serena, and whispering silly things only meant for her little ears.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart, but I have to go now." Natasja gazed at Serena, and for a moment, saw herself as a child, full of life and hopefulness. She took her hand and held it. "Promise me if you are ever afraid or need anything at all, you'll go and find Farkas at Jorrvaskr. Promise me right now, Serena."

"I promise, Natasja."

"I'll visit you again someday. Take care of my namesake, all right?" Natasja's throat closed up and tears welled in her eyes, but she didn't even understand why. Or did she?

She fled from the yard with a wave for a solemn Farkas and the smiling girl, falling back into the role of the restless drifter she had become, a woman fleeing from a reputation, from a curse. She ran back to Breezehome, back to Brynjolf, hoping that with him, she could find some measure of peace—if the gods let her.

* * *

Brynjolf was reading when she walked through the door. Putting the book back on the shelf, he stood at her approach, and held out a hand. "Come and tell me how your visits went."

"Farkas and I did have a nice long talk on the way to the Serena's house."

"And how is the little lass faring?"

"She seemed fine, happy even."

"Glad to hear it." Brynjolf was secretly thrilled the girl was well, knowing Natasja would make good on her promise to take her away. "And what of her mother?"

"She called me a fat ass," she said irritably.

"What?" he asked, somewhat amused by the disturbed expression on her face. "Did you beat her senseless?"

That made her laugh. "No, but I think she got my point."

"You are not fat, by the way. You are-"

" _Don't_ tell me I'm big boned or I'll slap your face."

"I wasn't going to say that. But you're a Nord, so you are naturally larger than some waifish Breton, and you have more muscle than most women. She must have been a scrawny little thing, eh?"

"She was at that."

"Well, I like my women solid and strong, and capable of wielding more than a broom. And I especially like the fire in a certain woman's gaze." He traced his fingertips over her arm, and his touch made her shiver. For a few moments, all they did was stare at one another. "You are just right in _my_ eyes, Natasja."

"Hardly perfect."

His darkened eyes flashed. "If I think you are perfect, then you are perfect."

"And your word is law?"

"As a matter of fact, it is." He brushed some hair from her face, tucking it behind her freckled ear. She leaned into him and held her breath when he kissed her on the neck behind her ear. His tongue was warm, wet, and when it swirled along the shell of her ear, she moaned.

Natasja grabbed his hand and held it tightly. Every bit of her disbelief melted away. She was no longer upset. She was stunned, and completely lost her train of thought. She now felt proud and… loved? _Gods, I have to tell him._

"Bryn, I… I want to tell you something."

"Oh? My ego _has_ been sorely neglected lately."

She laughed. "Okay, I can take a hint. Your skills as a lover are unsurpassed." He nodded once, with a smug grin. "How about we have the conversation over supper though? I'm hungry." Revealing the truth in public would certainly keep him from making a scene. "Let's go to the Drunken Huntsman just across the way. It's lower key than the Bannered Mare, and I like the crowd better."

"You like anyone in particular?"

"You dare to question the Thane of Whiterun about who she socializes with?" she asked, feigning insult.

"And just what are you hiding, my fair Thane?" He ran a few tentative fingers up her side, watching her for a reaction. "Knowing you, I suppose my superior interrogation techniques would prove fruitless."

"I am not ticklish," she said, a tad too straight-faced.

"Oh really?" He slid his nimble fingers higher up, feather light and fast. She twitched, her lips trembling slightly. "Not even if I do this?" His fingers moved higher still, reaching just under her armpit. A repressed smile broke loose, and she began to squirm away from him. "Is something funny, lass?" And then he tickled her until she cried out for mercy and begged for him to stop.

"Stop! You win! You win," she submitted. "You found my weakness. Do with me as you must, Sir Thief."

She stayed still and watched him, drank in the sight of him. Laughter danced in his eyes, and on his face, a lightness drew her toward him and made her feel as if she didn't have a care in the world, like anything was possible. He dug his fingers into her hair and pulled her to him, kissing her with deep, hungry kisses that tasted of raisin bread and jam.

"Seriously though, Bryn," she said a little breathless from his kiss, "I do have something important to discuss with you over supper."

"Then let's get going."

As they left her house, Brynjolf asked her a question, which had been burning on his tongue for an hour. "Farkas mentioned something about your _special_ skills when we were interrupted. Which skills was he speaking of, lass?"

"Oddly enough, that's what I want to talk about."

"Before you say anything further, let me just say one thing." She nodded. "I want you to know how pleased I am that you're willing to confide in me now. Remember, I'll not judge you."

"You say that now, but as I told you this morning, you may not like what you hear."

He shook his head. "I think _you_ are actually the control freak among us. Let me be the judge of what I like and don't like, please."

"All right," she said in nervous, high-pitched tone. "Well, not so long ago," she began, looking at the ground, "I discovered something, quite by accident, and well… Jarl Balgruuf brought it to my attention after a dragon was killed near the watchtower and-"

A loud squeal shattered the quiet and Natasja lifted her head to see a scruffy dog being kicked by a local noble.

"Hey! You there!" Brynjolf rushed away from Natasja toward the noble and pushed him to the ground as the man was drawing a dagger. "Back off! Only a coward would kick a dog like that. Did you mean to kill him?" Brynjolf spoke with an outrage Natasja hadn't seen from him yet.

"And just who are you?" the noble said as he stood up and brushed himself off. "I'll have you arrested for assault, you cut purse!"

"Norgran! Stand down!" Natasja interrupted. "You'll do no such thing to my friend."

"Your friend?" The man backed away. "Why yes, Thane, of course. My apologies."

"Get out of here now, Norgran, before I have _you_ arrested."

Brynjolf was cradling the dog's head when she knelt at his side. "Bryn? Is the dog all right?"

"That damned fool kicked him in the head! But I think he's just stunned," he said, glancing at her with kindhearted eyes. "He looks like a stray. Kind of thin, don't you think?"

She glanced around and no child or man appeared to claim the dog. "Seems that way. You should take him with you, Bryn."

He laughed. "I don't think Mercer would see this mongrel as an asset to the Guild."

"Why do you give a shit what Mercer thinks?"

"I don't actually. Imagine? He could be our mascot," he said, half-jokingly.

"He could be," she said, seriously. "You saved the dog, Bryn. That means he's yours now."

"Mine?" _Is she comparing herself to the dog?_

"Yes. _Yours_ ," she said with a point of her finger. "I'll train him for you if you like. He'll be the best fighting dog you've ever seen." She whistled to the dog, walking backward toward her house and it followed at her heels. As soon as she opened the door, it ran inside and jumped onto the sofa. She looked at Brynjolf, smiling smugly. "See? He just wants a home."

"You surprise me, lass. I like that about you."

Closing the door, she grinned, and he took her hand as they headed for the Drunken Huntsman again. Once inside the quiet tavern, roving eyes fell on Natasja, her keen ears hearing the word she had come to hate spoken in low tones.

She pointed to secluded corner and pulled him along. "Let's sit over there, Bryn." She saw him eyeing the customers, straining to hear their whispered comments. _Shit, shit, shit._

And as he listened, he caught the same word several times. She watched his expression, and waited, forming a defense in her head as a server placed a bread and cheese platter on their table.

"Why is there so much talk of a Dragonborn?" he asked her. "I think I've heard that word more in the last two days here in Whiterun than I've heard in my lifetime."

"Well, you know the dragons have returned, so along with them comes the…." She swallowed hard, failing at keeping a cool demeanor. "…the Dragonborn." Her mind raced with thoughts of him leaving her and storming back to Riften. The prospect was enough to make her feel physically ill.

"Lass, you've gone pale," he said with a frown. "What's wrong?"

"Brynjolf, I… I am…."

"You are what?" He laid his hand on hers. "You're trembling, Natasja. Tell me what's going on."

"It's me. They're all talking about me."

"You? I don't understand what you have to do… with…." Farkas's words came back to him then. _Someone with the special skills of the.…_ "Sweet Divines. You? You're the Dragonborn?"

"I shouldn't have waited this long to tell you but I was afraid you'd leave me. I'm so sorry."

"No, you shouldn't have waited." His mind was reeling with the implications. Reflexively, his hands dug into the table before he jerked them away and dragged them through his hair. Whatever he'd expected she would say, whatever he'd imagined didn't come close to the shock that had his heart beating faster than a drum.

"They may know _what_ I am, but not _who_ I am," she said desperately. "Not like you do."

"Did you honestly think I would run off and abandon you because you're a Dragonborn?"

Of course he was offended, she could hear it in his voice, and her heart ached. "I didn't know how you'd react. People have often looked upon me as if I'm some sort of… creature, a mythical being."

"But you know me, Natasja. Have you not believed a word I've said to you?"

"Brynjolf, you have to understand it was not a lack of faith in you that has kept me silent. All I wanted was to forget for a while."

He very rarely felt lost in his life, but this conversation had him turned in different directions and none of them pointed in the right direction. "So this is why you joined the Guild, as an escape?"

"Yes. But it's been more rewarding than I thought it would be, mainly because of you. All the unpleasant things in my life have faded from my mind because of you."

"And now you're only staying because of me?" He shook his head and she didn't know if it was frustration, regret or plain anger she saw on his face. "Something doesn't make sense here."

"If we hadn't… if we were just friends, I probably would leave after a while, like I did with the Companions."

"And is that why you never got closer to the werewolf? Because you knew you would leave him one day?"

"No. Farkas is a true friend and I love him dearly, but he wanted more from our relationship, and I couldn't give it to him. I didn't have _romantic_ feelings for him. You and I have so much more than mere camaraderie, Bryn."

"Do we?"

"I... I thought so. Maybe I'm wrong." She felt the sting of tears in her eyes as her throat constricted. She squeezed her eyes shut, determined to push back the emotions rolling through her. "Am I wrong, Bryn?"

"What _do_ you feel for me, Natasja?" He looked at her, anguish written all over his face. "And be honest. I don't think that's asking too much."

She did not answer. Could not, because she could scarcely draw breath as she stared into his questioning eyes.

His gaze faltered and his voice dropped. "Since you are remaining silent, I will tell you a story that might spur you to answer." He took a deep breath and began as she stared at him, dumbstruck. "After Anabel's death, I went crazy for time. Drinking, carousing, all manner of debauchery that I hoped might do me in somehow. Delvin found me one night, piss drunk and throwing up outside the city gates. He dragged me back home and tossed me into the cistern water and then he pushed me around some in front of the other members. I was humiliated, but it wasn't the pushing around that embarrassed me, it was the way they all looked at me. I had let them down, selfish prick that I was. Anyway, I got myself together and a few days later, Delvin preached to me, as he is wont to do, and said one day another woman would stroll into town and steal my heart, just as Anabel had. I didn't believe him, but I did resume my duties in the Guild. From that day forward I took care of my family and never forgot my purpose."

"And so what?" she said, keeping her eyes on him, a hint of alarm into her voice. "You're saying I should embrace my role as Dragonborn, right?"

"Yes, but there is more to it. That day I saw you in the marketplace," he paused. The truth was he was frightened, too. More frightened, maybe, than she was. "I knew it was you then, only I didn't want to believe it, but I do now."

"Pardon me, Bryn, but… what exactly are you saying?"

His heart beat heavily in his chest, blood pounding in his ears. He was about to speak more openly of his feelings than he had in years. "Natasja, you take my breath away. You know what I'm thinking, what I'm feeling. You've stolen my heart, lass. And the truth is, I didn't even think I had one to steal. I can't make it any plainer."

Her entire life and its new direction depended on her next few words. She had to choose them wisely. _What do I say to that?_ "Brynjolf, I worry we're being too quick, too rash. What if-"

"Forget the 'what ifs'. Here and now is all that matters."

"The problem is... it's that I…."

"What? Just say it already!" he pressed her.

"I don't _want_ to fall for you."

"What? I don't understand you, lass." His teeth clenched and every muscle tightened with frustration as his blood pounded hot in his veins.

"It will always be one-sided with us," she asserted. "You will never see me the way you should, the way it's meant to be for a man and a woman. You'll always see me as the Dovahkiin first and a woman second."

"Now hold it right there, lass. Do _not_ speak for me." She shrank at the overt insult in his voice as he shifted to sit up straighter. "All I have _ever_ seen was the woman before me. If I have any thoughts about you being Dovahkiin, they are strictly out of concern for the perils you face in that role and nothing more." She looked stunned. Totally and utterly stunned, as if she'd just heard the worst news in the world. "Natasja? Say something."

"I don't know how to say this without sounding… trite. Maybe if I told you a story of my own, as cliché as that is."

"Of course." _Did she just call my story cliché? Gods, she's a pain in the arse._ "Tell me whatever you're thinking," he said in a most encouraging voice.

"Well, when I was a young girl, I enjoyed tending the garden for hours at a time. Every day when I took a break, I would imagine a handsome man riding on a beautiful black charger coming toward the garden, looking at me as if he had found a great treasure. He would scoop me up and take me away to his castle, where servants would wait on me and I would wear fancy clothes and have nothing but dessert treats for every meal. I think every girl has that dream though." She laughed, gazing past him for a moment, then looked into his eyes searchingly, her own just about swimming with tears. "My home is in the cistern now, surrounded by thieves, eating soggy bread and wearing this weathered armor. _That_ is my reality."

His heart sank like a stone. He was by no means unprepared for this as he had spent hours on end reflecting on her motivations for joining the Guild. But he had to know everything, every painful detail. "So the Guild is not enough for you. _I_ am not enough for you."

Her feelings for him were so new, so fragile and uncertain, yet she could not deny them. "Brynjolf… I'm trying to tell you it _is_ enough, more than enough. Since I've met you, _you_ are the man I see on that charger now. I never asked to be Dragonborn. I don't want to be Dragonborn, especially if it means losing you."

"You haven't lost me, lass." He reached his hand across the table, lacing his fingers through hers, sending a flood of warmth right through her. "Yes, I'm worried about you. I'm worried about what this all means in regard to your future, but you haven't lost me at all."

Relief flowed over her like a fresh breeze, followed swiftly by eagerness. "Oh Gods, Bryn, I can't tell you how worried I was." She closed her eyes and breathed out loudly. "And you're sure?"

"You're skeptical, as usual." He turned serious, leaning forward and staring intently. "I can't promise you anything beyond what you already know I have. But what I have, and what I am, are yours."

"You can't imagine the loneliness and isolation," she said quietly, "the long nights I used to lay awake listening to only my heartbeat and wondering if that was all I had to look forward to day after day. But I don't want promises you can't keep," she said, grasping his hand tighter. "Promises are what my father gave my mother, and I don't want them. I just don't want to be alone. I want you to be with me." Her stomach rumbled and she let go a small laugh. "And apparently my stomach wants some food now." She tore of some bread from the loaf and stuffed it into her mouth.

"So you can live without a castle and servants? I suppose we could count Vekel as a potential servant."

She laughed at his comic relief. "Vekel is far from the subservient type."

"Aye, just ask Tonilia."

"Speaking of her, Dirge says you and Tonilia have a thing going on, that she's cheating on Vekel with you."

His lips twitched and then he laughed. He hadn't expected the conversation to turn this way. "Dirge has nothing better to do than to make up stories, lass. Bored thieves gossip like old fishwives. And Tonilia is not my type."

"I didn't know you had type."

"Eh, I don't really. But my mind has been occupied by a certain Nord woman who also happens to be a Dragonborn," he said, then kissed her hand. "I'll never feel in danger again while you're around."

"Oh, so you mean to use the Thu'um to protect your own ass? Smart man."

"I think so. Only a village idiot would walk away from a woman with that kind of gift."

"I can hardly imagine a more self-serving statement than that," she teased. "Why don't you tell me exactly what you think of me, Bryn. And spare me nothing."

"Well, for starters I think you are often foolish and impulsive, but well-intended." Then, with the note of seriousness in his voice again, he said, "I also think you'll come to embrace your role as Dragonborn sooner than you think."

"All right, enough of your assumptions." She tipped her head and grinned at him. "We should finish eating, and then make the most of our last night here. Maybe see what that dog is really made of?" Wide-eyed, she waited for his answer.

"I think we should fit in some wild sex when we get back to your house first."

She tried to stifle a laugh. "Oh. Well. I'm so relieved to hear that."

"I knew you would be. And as for the dog, whatever Mercer thinks about him, I'm sure he'll be out-voted by the others."

Giddy didn't describe her then, a beaming smile lighting her face. "I'm so glad you're agreeing with me on his."

"He does sort of remind me of a dog I had as a young lad." Brynjolf held her gaze as he offered Natasja his hand. "Let's go see if that mongrel has destroyed your house yet."

"He needs a name, you know. Maybe we should call him Mercer! And then I'll introduce the real Mercer to the dog and then maybe I can train the dog to pee on his desk."

"I hope you're not serious. Mercer would bust a vein." He leaned in and whispered. "Have you no control over your tongue, lass?"

"None."

"Mmm, good." He nipped at her ear before pushing her out the door.

"Oh Bryn, I'm so excited about the dog," she said as they hurried toward her house. "I know he will be worth it."

Pausing at her door, he tilted her chin up and peered into her eyes. "Just know that if you ever have to go, I won't regret anything, because _you_ are worth it."

"As are you. You're worth any risk. Every risk," she told him, their lips getting closer before coming together in a kiss.

She opened the door at once, and there was the dog with eyes big as saucers, and one of Natasja's favorite gauntlets in his mouth. Or what was left of it.

When Brynjolf saw her angered expression, he held back the laugh that wanted to come out. "Is he still worth it, lass?"

"I wouldn't throw you out just because you chewed up one of my _very favorite gauntlets_!" she shouted pointedly at the dog. The dog dropped the gauntlet and quickly fetched a length of wood. "See?" She threw her arms around Brynjolf and hugged him with all her might. "He's smarter than he looks. Just like someone else I know." She placed her hand gently behind his neck, pulled him to her, and kissed him. "So, what was that you mentioned about wild sex?"

Her words sent lust pounding through him, forgetting about everything but making love to her, everything except the dog. "What about Mangy Mercer over there?"

"I don't care if he eats every piece of furniture in this house, Bryn." She took a breath, and smiled boldly. Bravely. "I want you. Now." She traced her hand down his chest, the hair sprinkled over his hot skin rough on her fingers, and then along the curve of his hip. She felt his back stiffen and his breath catch as she caressed him and felt him instantly harden. "And I think you want me too."

"I've never wanted anything more, Natasja."

With hearts possessed, they gazed at each other, both under the other's control and no one else's. They stared at each other and in that moment, they were as close as two people could be.

Natasja eyed the dog dangerously. "Stay!"

Then she and Brynjolf sprinted for the stairs.


	8. Best Laid Plans

_When dreaming I'm guided to another world  
Time and time again  
At sunrise I fight to stay asleep  
'Cause I don't want to leave the comfort of this place  
'Cause there's a hunger, a longing to escape  
From the life I live when I'm awake  
So let's go there  
Let's make our escape  
Come on, let's go there  
Let's ask can we stay - _ _**Creed** _

* * *

For once, the Dunmer had earned his pay spying for Mercer Frey. Tythis Ulen had alerted Mercer when Natasja and Brynjolf were nearing the Riften Stables. Mercer took the opportunity to blend into the dark shadows and sit on a tree limb to observe them. They unpacked the horses and paid the stable owner his fee without much ado, until a dog, of all things, began barking and running circles around them. Mercer assumed it was a stray at first, but Brynjolf bent over and roughed up the dog playfully. Then the Nord girl did the same and the hound knocked her to the ground, licking her face as she laughed.

_A bloody mongrel. That's what they bring back?_

As they gathered their belongings, he heard the Nord girl laughing, almost giggling, at something Brynjolf had said. Brynjolf moved closer to her and grabbed her by the arms, spinning her around and embracing her from behind. Then he buried his face in her hair, and Mercer saw the girl turn her head to look at Brynjolf before she broke free from his grasp. She threw her arms around his shoulders, and they spent the better part of two minutes kissing.

Mercer smirked as he pondered the new development. _Well, well, the Nord girl caught him. What a foolish man, to fall for the drifter. Foolish, but predictable. Bringing her into the fold may very well be the best thing Brynjolf's ever done for me. She'll be an excellent distraction when the time comes, if she sticks around that long. I'll have to keep my eyes on her anyway. She's smart, maybe too smart._

For a short time, he watched them from his perch, watched as they touched each other familiarly, their hands roaming over each other's bodies without a care in the world. They threw their packs over their shoulders, and like a true gentleman, Brynjolf carried the heaviest load. She couldn't keep her hands off him, though, and Mercer felt a pang of resentment for the closeness they seemed to share. Not that he had any interest in the Nord girl, but he certainly appreciated how advantageous it was for Brynjolf to have a woman at the ready whenever the urge struck, instead of having to buy the favors of the local women. _Enjoy her while you can, Brynjolf._ He slipped away over the walls of the city and headed for the Cistern.

Yes, Mercer Frey's plan had fallen into place quite nicely.

"Maybe we should keep our… involvement on the quiet," Natasja said as they left the stables. "I don't want anyone to think I'm getting preferential treatment."

"You'll get no preferential treatment from me, lass. We're all equals in the Guild."

"Still, I don't think Mercer will be happy about this. I don't want him to make things difficult for you." She turned and whistled to the dog. "Come on, Merc!"

"I've known Mercer for over twenty years. He's a grumpy bastard, but he'll not get involved in my personal life that way."

"If you say so, Bryn," she said with an incredulous lilt.

"I have a feeling Mercer will have more to say about Merc than anything else he learns tonight."

Natasja grabbed Brynjolf from behind and hugged him tightly. "I want you all to myself today, like a special secret."

"I guarantee you every single thief in there is going to figure it out, and fast." He kissed the tip of her nose. She felt the restraint rumble in his chest as he smiled. "And for those who don't figure it out, remember, you are sharing my room tonight and that will not go unnoticed."

"What a bunch of gossips. I think you all need to get out more often," she said, slapping him playfully. "Speaking of which, do you think Mercer will allow Viper or maybe Rune to go with me to shake down Gulum-Ei?"

"Mercer understands about safety in numbers. I'm sure he'll agree to it." He stopped at the entrance to the cemetery and he considered her with a searching gaze. "May I ask why you mention those two?"

 _Hm, is that jealousy I hear in his voice? You don't want make a commitment, but you don't want anyone else to have me either?_ "Well, I know Vex and Del have no interest in travelling, and to be honest, Viper and Rune seem to be more adventurous. They have also been particularly attentive to my needs, and they've trained me more than anyone else has, including you."

"That's hardly fair to me, lass. I run a Guild and it does keep me busy." He looked at her for a long moment, waiting for her to recant. It didn't happen. "It is, however, a fair assessment of Vex and Del. But you may find yourself with a small battle on your hands. I wager Viper and Rune will both want to go."

"Then I'll let you choose."

"Oh no! I'll not get involved," he said as he led the way to the Cistern's secret passage. "You'd best have a first choice so there are no hard feelings."

"You are my first choice."

"Aye. That would be my choice as well, but not this time." He climbed down the ladder and caught the dog in his arms. "Now, let's go and give Mercer the news and then set about to having a celebratory night."

Natasja tied up the dog out of clear view thinking it would be better to assess Mercer's mood before introducing the two. The Cistern was unusually vacant when they arrived. The other members were, no doubt, deep into their third or fourth drink at the Flagon already, given the hour of the night.

Mercer was at his desk, thumbing through the ledger when he rolled his eyes up to see them. "What's the news from Whiterun?"

 _Why do I hate this man so much? Oh right, because he's an arrogant jackass._ Natasja handed him the note, and after Mercer read both sides, he let go a short laugh. "No surprises here. I knew Gulum-Ei would resurface sooner rather than later. That sneaky lizard needs to be taught a lesson."

"I agree," Brynjolf said.

"And do you also agree the Nord girl is capable of this job?"

"Absolutely. She handled the job in Whiterun almost single-handedly." Arms at their sides, Natasja intentionally bumped Brynjolf's hand with hers. "I was there primarily as an observer," he said, pinning his eyes on her. _Gods, she doesn't quit_.

"Are you capable of another trip, girl?"

 _How dare he keep calling me "girl" in such a reproachful, degrading manner?_ In all her adult years, she'd never been addressed that way. Natasja's eyes narrowed, but she nodded, like an obedient apprentice. "Very capable."

"Good. I've had just about enough of whoever is meddling in our affairs with Maven. Go to Solitude and make sure Gulum-Ei tells you the person we really need to take care of. Make sure he understands he needs to be available to us also. Under no circumstances are you to kill him. He's still on the inside at East Empire and he'll be a valuable fence in Solitude." Mercer's head dropped and he continued to flip pages randomly. Then, as an afterthought, he spoke again. "Take anyone you want with you. Anyone except Brynjolf. And take that mutt with you too."

Brynjolf's knuckles touched hers as they both made a fist. "Will do, Guild Master, Sir."

Mercer recognized the strain under her flippant tone, the tension hiding behind her casual posture. Hadn't she learned to mask her own fears and uncertainties? _Novice_. He scowled but let it pass.

As they walked away from Mercer, Brynjolf leaned toward Natasja and whispered, "I can see we're thinking the same thing."

"How can you stand him?" she whispered back. "That bastard spied on us at the stables."

"Aye . And what do you make of that, lass?"

"Not sure. But I bet Delvin will have a theory or two. Something doesn't add up where Mercer is concerned."

"Maybe he wants you all to himself," Brynjolf teased.

"Tch. No, I think he dislikes me, and quite a lot."

"Chin up, lass." He put his hand on her shoulder and grasped it, the way a mentor might if he were about to ask his young protégé a very important question. "You still want to go to the Flagon with me and boast about our spoils from the trip, don't you?"

"Of course I do," she said with a curious expression. "I'll untie Merc and then we can introduce him to his new family."

Once they were center stage at the Flagon, they were greeted with cheers and slaps on the back.

"And look who it is," Delvin said, not bothering to get out of his chair. "The daring duo returns."

"How are you, Del?"asked Brynjolf.

"Pleased as punch you two are back." Delvin motioned to Vekel for another round. "Things have been duller than a sack of hammers around here."

"Well, feast your eyes on this, my friend." Brynjolf placed the Honningbrew decanter on the table with a smug grin.

"Now that is one lovely lady," he said, talking to himself as he admired the present. "Where did you find this?"

"The lass nabbed it for you, from the meadery."

Natasja smiled proudly when Delvin winked at her. "Nice of you to think of me, Nat. It'll fit right in with my collection."

"And nothing for me?" Vex asked. "I can see you know who needs buttering around here." She eyed Brynjolf, and then sauntered off as Natasja stared at her blankly.

The dog nosed Natasja's knee then, as if waiting for his introduction. "Hey, Del. This here is Merc." The dog was drooling at the sight of the salmon on the table, and jumped up to snatch it from Delvin's plate. With a long and sloppy lick around his jowls, Merc set to slobbering all over Delvin's leg.

"Well, ain't he a fierce lookin' hound." Delvin leaned back in his chair as if waiting for the punch line to the joke.

"He's still in training," Natasja defended. "Don't make fun of him."

"I'm surprised Mercer didn't have you throw him back out."

"Mercer seemed… distracted," Brynjolf said. "What's he been up to while we were gone?"

"I'm not sure. He did come and go an awful lot. Said he had business meetings to attend and people to talk to. Wouldn't elaborate."

Brynjolf sensed Delvin was holding back on his assessment of Mercer's behavior. He'd speak with him privately another time, and far away from the Cistern. "Natasja is leaving for Solitude tomorrow, and I'm going to keep a close eye on Mercer for the next few days. I get the feeling he has a plan."

"It'd be nice if he let us in on it. Maybe it's high time he retired and let you run things from now on, Brynjolf."

"No, no, I've no interest in that job."

Natasja slapped her thigh and called to the dog. "Come on, boy. Let's go see who wants to travel with us tomorrow."

Brynjolf sat down with Delvin, distracted by thoughts of Mercer.

"So?" Delvin said with a friendly smile.

"So what?"

"Tell me about your trip with Nat? Is she as wily as I think she is?"

Brynjolf laughed. "Wily as a fox."

"I just _knew_ she was. But be careful, Brynjolf. Women are the worst kind of distraction."

"Give me some credit, Mallory. She's not a distraction." Brynjolf stared at her as she returned his gaze with calm eyes. Inclining his head, he continued to watch her, much to Delvin's amusement.

"You're far gone, Brynjolf, gone like yesterday's news." Brynjolf pretended not to hear Delvin's quip. "And did you learn anything about her? Anything pertinent to the Guild, that is?"

"That's for her to say, not me." Natasja was sitting close to Viper and had her hand upon his arm. Brynjolf cursed the flip his stomach did. He wanted to drag her out of there and back to his room, to claim her as his. He pushed the thought aside, but it had already insinuated its way into his consciousness, and he couldn't refute it.

"So who's she taking to Solitude?"

"One of those poor unsuspecting thieves sitting with her."

"I'd go if I thought she was available for the taking," Delvin said.

Brynjolf 's head snapped around, incensed for a split second, until he realized Delvin was simply trying to get a rise out of him. Delvin was quite proud of himself in that moment. "Again, it is for her to say who she does or does not want."

"Right. All I'm goin' to say is that you're a lucky man, old friend."

"Aye. Lucky indeed." Brynjolf left Delvin with nod and walked to the table where Rune, Viper, and Natasja sat.

"What do mean you don't ride horses?" Natasja asked Rune. "We'll have to hire a wagon for Solitude then, and it will take longer." The exasperation in her voice made Rune bristle a little. Natasja smiled sweetly then. "No matter, Rune. What's another day gone from the sewers, right? We'll have a relaxing and fun time, me and you."

"I have to admit I'm excited to spend some time with my sister in crime." Viper snorted and placed his drink down with a thud, and Rune couldn't resist ribbing his friend. "I think someone is a bit jealous."

"Bah. You go have your fun," Viper scoffed. "I'll be right here taking it easy in the lap of luxury."

Brynjolf stepped closer to the table and put his hand on Natasja's shoulder. "Be careful if you have to fight at her side, Rune. She's a bit reckless with her sword arm," he said forcing a serious tone. "Stand in the wrong place at the wrong time and you'll end up a very dead innocent bystander."

"Now that's a downright lie, Brynjolf! Take it back before you actually do become one of the walking wounded," she threatened with a punch to his arm.

"Maybe I'll tell them about the skeever venom fiasco."

"You mean how I saved your ass? Go ahead and tell them. As long as I come out smelling like a rose, you can tell anyone you want."

"Another round!" Brynjolf shouted to Vekel, and then he leaned over and whispered in Natasja's ear. "One more drink and then back to my room with you. I have plans for you tonight and passing out drunk isn't part of them."

"Come on, Bryn! Spill already!" someone shouted.

"Yeah, don't keep us in suspense," Vex deadpanned.

"So there we were," Brynjolf began, "surrounded by a dozen skeevers when a venomfang launched at me and attached itself to my leg. The damn beast was a big as a mammoth and it took me down to the ground. You should have seen Natasja in action, her blade flashing like lightning as she tumbled across the ground. She slew them all in fewer than ten seconds. I swear it."

As his version of what happened in Whiterun continued, he praised her skills and spoke of her courage and talent for sucking venom from a wound. It was impossible not to see the admiration he held for her. They all saw it, and now they all knew. He had been right. There was no hiding their relationship from this group. _So be it_. And now that it was in the open, she couldn't help but want the end of his tale to come immediately.

"And here we are, alive and ready to thieve another day." Brynjolf slapped Rune on the back with a hearty laugh. "Natasja and Rune are setting off on their own adventure in the morning. Hopefully she won't have to save Rune in a similar fashion." Rune was wordless at the thought, but then everyone laughed as the last sips of mead were drunk and the gathering began to break up. The thieves departed in various directions, some drunk, some eying Brynjolf knowingly, but overall, most were just plain tired.

Brynjolf hustled Natasja back to his room. On their last night together, he kissed her again and again leaving her almost breathless. They tumbled onto the bed, where they tore at each other's clothes until all the significant bits were exposed. With moans of passion, his greedy hands roamed over her body, needing to feel every inch of her. She, in turn, explored his body with her mouth and her hands, eagerly touching every part of him until they made love, fast and frantic, both needful of release. They rested before the second time. Then it was slow, and they savored every moment, every sight, sound, taste, and touch of each other before resting in each other's arms.

They lay together naked and entwined. Neither of them slept for a long while, not wanting to waste one second of their final hours and minutes together. When he felt her shiver as she began to doze, Brynjolf insisted wear his shirt.

"You're taking care of me again," she observed.

A corner of his mouth quirked up. "As much as you'll let me."

Tears stung her eyes as she nestled close, as close as she could get. This was what she would miss most, the quiet companionship in the night, the knowledge that she wasn't alone. Her lips parted as sleep began to claim her. "You're a good storyteller, Bryn, but next time, can you brag about me just a little bit more?" Brynjolf smiled up at the ceiling as he heard her voice disappear into sleep.

"For you, anything," he promised her softly, and kissed her cheek. "Anything."

* * *

Natasja and Rune had set out before dawn, and she didn't wake him, damn her. Brynjolf awoke to a quiet room and an empty bed. The shirt Natasja had worn was folded and placed next to his head, as a reminder he assumed. He brought it to his nose, breathing in the fragrance of her skin, soothing vanilla and cinnamon. Missing her so soon was not the way he wanted to start the day.

He was nothing if not practical. His first order of business was to speak with Mercer and try to get a feel for his plans. Then he would review the strategy to hit a few of the newer and richer inhabitants of Riften. Normally, these tasks would carry him through the day happily. With Natasja gone, he had an idea time would drag on, but she would only be gone for a few days. He could handle that, right? He sighed. "Right," he said to himself. "Buck up and tough it out, Nord."

Days passed, but Brynjolf was no closer to understanding Mercer's motivations, and it frustrated him to no end. He had thought Delvin would have more insight, but what he offered were mixed clues with blanks needing to be filled in. They didn't know who Mercer had spoken to, where he went, or why. Delvin mentioned Mercer had gone into the vault a few times, claiming to be reviewing plans and counting coin for investment purposes, but insisted Delvin not accompany him. Delvin had no choice but to comply. Brynjolf and Delvin agreed to check out the vault at some point when Mercer was absent, but that option didn't seem to be on the horizon as Mercer hadn't left the Cistern the last five days.

Just after sunup on the sixth day, Brynjolf strolled in after an extremely successful hit on a large mansion and saw Natasja and Rune standing in front of Mercer's desk. Mercer looked completely stunned. Brynjolf approached them, and although he was having a hard time containing an exuberant smile, he paced forward stern-faced and caught the tail end of the conversation.

"Gods damn that Dunmer!" Mercer blew out a breath and ran his fingers through his hair.

"Good to see you two are safe," Brynjolf said, his eyes smiling even if his lips weren't. Natasja's face lit up as well, but he silently indicated they should remain stoic. "What's going on, Mercer?"

"It's Karliah. That murdering bitch is back," he sneered. "She killed Gallus and now she wants to do the same to me."

" _She_ is behind this entire mess? I honestly thought Karliah would never turn up again." Brynjolf was visibly stunned, and Natasja couldn't help but wonder about his past relationship with Karliah. "What are you going to do?" he asked Mercer.

"Where the end began. That's where I'm going. Snow Veil Sanctum." He looked at Natasja intently, his eyes studying her face as though he were trying to solve a riddle that puzzled him. "And you're going with me, girl."

"Me? I have nothing to do with this!" Natasja protested.

"Mercer, if anyone is to go with you, it should be me." Brynjolf stepped around the desk and pinned Mercer with a glare. "Think about it, Mercer. I know Karliah's tactics as well as you."

"Absolutely not. You need to stay and run things. The girl has proven herself a worthy sword arm and I no longer question her skills. We leave at first light tomorrow."

"But she just returned, Mercer. Surely someone else is capable of-"

"My decision is final, Brynjolf! Now, all of you leave me. Do what you must today and meet me at the stables at dawn, girl."

Natasja turned on her heels and marched off toward Brynjolf's room without looking back. He followed with clenched teeth, his mind reeling. Once inside his room, she threw herself on top of his bed.

"Just what in bloody blazes did I do to deserve this? Here I thought as a member of the Guild I'd be robbing people blind, not babysitting the Guild Master on some revenge trip."

"Good to see you too, lass." He sat on the bed next to her and stroked her hair as she tried to regain her composure.

"I'm sorry." She put her arms up around his neck and relaxed, all at once grateful that he was now holding her. He clutched her tightly, yet gently stroked her hair, and she heard his heart beating as her ear rested against his chest. "I've missed you, Bryn."

"Have you? Well, I have been busy, but…." He didn't want to admit to her how many times he'd thought of her every day she was gone, how her face was all he could see in between every task, during every stroll through town, even as he stared at his food. In the morning, she would be leaving again, and rather than burden her with unnecessary anxiety over his concerns, he opted to hold her and whisper soothing reassurances. "Don't worry about the trip, lass. Mercer will have you back as quickly as possible."

She raised his hand and pressed his palm against her chest, her heart. "We should do something fun today. How about a picnic? I can buy us some food and wine and we can take our horses for a ride away from here."

"A simple, old-fashioned picnic somewhere in the countryside? That is a wonderful idea," he said smiling. "Let's meet at the stables in about two hours. I have a few things to wrap up first."

"I assume you know of a place with grass and trees and ants and… privacy?"

"I do. It's a beautiful spot. You'll see."

They both stood and for a long moment, he caressed her. He kissedher neck, her cheek, and then her lips, kissing her with deep, drowning kisses. She thought she might scream if he didn't touch her bare skin, so she drew her face away.

"I better go, lass, before I turn my thoughts into deeds."

"Save those thoughts for this afternoon, Bryn."

"I'll see you in a little while," he said and turned to go, leaving her standing there, her expression hopeful and sad all at once.

An hour later, Natasja sat up against a column near her horse. She had borrowed a quill and inkpot from the stable keeper, and was writing in her journal to release some stress over her pending trip with Mercer.

_My thoughts are a bit scattered today mainly because I'm concerned about travelling with Mercer tomorrow, but I'm also thinking of Brynjolf. My lover, Brynjolf. I don't know what he sees in me, but I'm done trying to figure it out. I'm waiting for him at the stables, waiting to see him coming toward me with those rugged good looks and hard muscles and attentive fingers… oh my, I'm flushed now. I thought it was appropriate to write in the exact spot where we were both brought to our knees when he first kissed me. A moment I'll never forget, even if the rest of that night didn't go very well. I have to admit the thought of him often makes me giddy, and giddy is not a feeling I ever had before meeting that thief. Imagine me, a vicious and deadly warrior, as giddy as a child? Sometimes I wonder who I've become, how he has changed my life in such a short time._

_I can't shake the funny feeling about the trip with Mercer though, but I won't bother Bryn with those thoughts. How will I sleep without him by my side? Solitude was lonely enough, even if Rune was more fun than I thought he'd be. I guess I'll have to imagine Bryn's hands on me, his breath in my ear, his lips on me. Gods, give me strength. I really should just come out with it and tell him. I sometimes think he is rarely surprised by anything that comes out of my mouth, but I hope he will at least act surprised by my admission today, that is if I get the nerve to say it._

_Oh, and here he comes now. Gods, he's a glorious sight. To know his smile is for me, his teasing and his unwavering faith are for no other but me, fills my heart with a peace where none existed before. Perhaps someday he will settle down as a husband and father. Dare I hope to be the lucky woman? A foolish dream perhaps, but one I wish for._

_I should end this and enjoy our time together. Now he's hovering over me and trying to peek at my writing, the naughty man. Damn it Bryn, you made me smudge the ink when you kissed me just now. I can hardly form coherent thoughts now. I just scolded him for pestering me and he's pouting as he saddles our horses. That is one vision I'll take with me to Irkngthand, along with so many others._

_Of course, I'm far too scared to say it out loud. He probably doesn't feel the same for me anyway, or maybe he does and he is as fearful as I am. I honestly don't know. Last week I told him the Cistern was my home now, but that wasn't quite true. He is my home. Wherever he is, be it in a stable or in a snowstorm, Bryn is my home. I'm in love with him. I know this to be the truth with my whole heart and soul. There. I confessed it. Should anything happen to me, I pray the Gods don't let him dwell over what could have been. I want him to live well, to live for me and his brothers and sisters of the Guild. They will always need him, as do I, no matter the distance between us. Gods, if I don't stop writing now, I may start crying instead. And I'm sure I'll be back in his arms soon and I'm worrying for no reason at all. All right. Time to go._

"Finally done then?" Brynjolf held out a hand and hoisted her to her feet.

She stuffed the journal in her pack and strapped it to Saturnalia's saddle. "Would you mind if I kept my journal locked in the chest in your room? I don't want to risk losing it."

"Not at all. Although I'll make no promises should I find myself bored and longing for your return."

"You wouldn't dare read it without my permission… would you?"

"I'm only kidding. I do have some honor you know."

They mounted their horses and took to the hills, going at a slow and easy pace affording them the chance to converse.

"Bryn?"

"Yes, lass."

"Is Karliah really as dangerous as Mercer said?"

"She will be a tough adversary, but I have no doubt you two will prevail. Mercer is a relentless tracker and a highly skilled fighter. You'll be safe with him, don't worry."

"But still, she's survived all these years with Mercer hunting her down."

"Come on now, no more of this talk. Time is wasting, and I have the perfect place in mind for our picnic."

"All right, all right. Lead on, thief."

After about fifteen minutes, Brynjolf pulled his horse to a stop and dismounted. "Here we are, lass. Isn't it lovely?"

A small grassy plain with outcrops of rock surrounded them. The wildflowers were just about at full bloom and framed the field, and the river rippled in the distance.

"It is beautiful, Brynjolf. Do you come here often?"

"No, I haven't been here in years." He looked toward the river, a melancholy expression of his face.

"Fond memories I hope?" Natasja knew his thoughts had drifted to Anabel, and she wanted to reach out and pull him to her, but allowed him a solemn moment of remembrance instead.

Natasja spread out a blanket and took out the cache of food from her bag. She had brought some figs, a wheel of cheese, and a large honey cake. They ate and drank a little wine, talked of her trip to Solitude and the mischief she and Rune had made there, and then they relaxed with Brynjolf's head resting on her lap as she stroked his hair.

"It occurs to me that you haven't told me any stories of your past lately," he said. "Anything you care to share?"

"Honestly, there isn't that much to tell you. I was a pain in the arse as a child and my father never ceased to remind me of it."

"You? Sweet and innocent Natasja was a pain in the arse? I just can't picture it."

"Very funny. He used to call me Omak, which means trouble."

"Omak, eh? The word itself doesn't sound very flattering. Come to me, Omak," he whispered in a husky voice as he pulled her down for a kiss. She seemed, for the moment, to have forgotten her mission the next day.

"At least when you say it, you sound almost affectionate."

"That's because I am being affectionate," he said, pleased with her lighter mood.

"Gods, I haven't thought of that name in years," she said with a faraway look in her eyes. "But I hated it, still do. So don't get in the habit of calling me that please."

"As you wish, lass. I don't want to get on your bad side."

"I don't think that's possible, Bryn."

"You know, lass, I think you need something to take your mind of tomorrow."

"Do you now? There's only one thing I can think of that will take my mind off tomorrow." She launched herself at him, knocking him backward and pinning him to the ground. "Let me take care of you, Bryn. As you say, I need to keep myself occupied."

"I'm all yours, lass. Give it your best shot."

"Is that a challenge of some sort?" she asked softly.

"If you take it as such," he answered, with a note of wickedness in his tone. "You know very well that all I have to do is run my hands along your thighs for you to give up and let me lead. So yes, we will call it a challenge."

"I hate you," she said, looking steadily into his eyes.

"That last time you said that we had a very _arousing_ afternoon."

"Shut up and relax, and I'll rid you of these infernally tight pants." Once the pants were off, she stroked him, and he groaned, thinking he might explode any second. "Not yet," she said in a gentle whisper and let go of him.

"Don't hold back on me, lass."

"Oh, I won't."

Once her leathers were off, she straddled his thighs and sunk down on Brynjolf, completely filled with him. Running her hands over his chest, she delighted in the crisp rasp of his hair, his nipples drawn into tight points. She wondered if he felt the same exciting jolt that was screeching down her spine. There was a purely masculine smile of satisfaction on his lips, one that would have bothered her if she wasn't so confident he'd be losing it within moments.

He tried to resist, but when she begin to move her hips back and forth, rocking on top of him, he lost whatever will power he had. Her pace quickened until she was pounding down onto him, her nails biting into his shoulders. And when his release came, in a sudden powerful explosion, his mind was washed clean of every thought but of her. He gasped her name in her ear, and she let go, let the searing climax of pressure and tingling pleasure take her in a crashing torrent, his name leaving her mouth in a harsh cry.

The laid tangled together for a long while, basking in the afterglow of passion well spent. She kissed his cheek and snuggled closer. "I'm going to miss you again, you know."

"Of course you are." When she didn't crack a smile, he grew serious and reached out to stroke her cheek. "Snow Veil isn't much farther than Whiterun in distance. You won't be gone for more than five or six days, and if I know Mercer, he'll push to make the trip with no sleep. You'd best get some decent sleep tonight."

"I don't want to rest," she murmured. "I don't want this day to end, Bryn."

"You need to be in top form, lass. Tonight you should relax and hit the sack early," he said with an authoritative tone. "For once, just listen to me and do as I say."

"This sudden concern for your protégé is touching." Natasja's sarcasm was unmistakable.

He clenched his jaw against a heated reply. **"** Normally, I let recruits suffer the consequences of poor judgment. In this case, my concern for you is very real and very personal."

"What does that even mean, Brynjolf?"

"It means that I care about you. I trust you and I respect you, but I'm looking out for you as well."

Her hopes soared for a moment. " _Care_ about me?"

"More than you can imagine."

"I care about you, too, Bryn. But... where are we going with this?"

His jaw tightened and he released the hold he had around her. "I can't answer that."

"It's not like...I mean, I'm not asking for a commitment," she stammered, flustered and tongue-tied. "I… I just need to know what you're thinking."

"I care about you more than I expected. More than I ever dreamed possible." His voice took on a sudden hard edge. He was closing up, pushing her away with his dark, smoldering expression. "But I cannot make a formal commitment to you. I just can't."

"Well neither can I." The swiftness of her agreement startled him. Feeling stupid and hurt over the assumptions she had made, she straightened and smiled, albeit a forced smile. She withdrew from his touch, threw on her clothes hastily, and began packing up.

"I've responsibilities, lass… obligations to the Guild that go beyond any personal desires I may have," he said as he put his arms around her waist.

"Don't worry. I won't get in the way of your duties." She pushed him away. "Better get you pants on."

"And now you're angry with me," he said throwing his arms up. "Look, I don't mean to sound… selfish. If it weren't for my own weakness, my desire to be near you…."

"Say no more, please. I understand, and I agree it's wise to keep what we have noncommittal. I have to go to High Hrothgar eventually and Gods know what the Greybeards will want from me then."

"Perhaps we can revisit this discussion in a few months," he said coolly, but she heard the regret in his voice.

"Perhaps. In any case, we should head out. The sun will be setting soon. And I have to prepare." She scurried to pack the horses and got on Saturnalia quickly.

"I'm sorry if I've ruined this day, Natasja. It was not my intention to do so." The words were not bold, but shy and cautious as he looked up at her.

"You didn't ruin anything," she reassured him. "It was a lovely day and I regret nothing we've said. You...you can't even begin to know what you've done for me today." Her tone and demeanor changed as she brought her hand to his face. "I know what I must do, exactly where my responsibilities lie. It's something always in the back of my mind, but you've helped me to commit to them. So we're good, all right?"

"Aye." But he didn't really agree. He didn't even know why he said what he did. Fear for her, for himself perhaps? And now she has some plan to…. to what? Leave for good? _Blast and damnation. What have I done?_

He mounted Hammersteed in silence, and they rode swiftly across the meadows in the flood of sunset light. Natasja was so distracted and distraught, she barely held her horse's reins for guidance, leaving Saturnalia to guide them back unaided until they reached the stables. Throughout the trip back, Brynjolf also felt the distance widen between them in the very short time. Once back at the stable, Natasja continued her silence, every move she made exacting and quick.

"What a good girl you are, Saturnalia," she whispered as she stroked the horses' nose, "finding your way back with no help from me." Saturnalia's loud and echoing whinny startled Brynjolf to speak.

"She's smarter than the average horse, it's true."

"I'm sure she could find her way here from Markarth if she was pressed to do so."

"You've trained her well, lass." Saturnalia stepped toward Brynjolf, and her tongue swept out to lick his cheek.

"I think she likes you as much as I do." Then she flushed, realizing she had misspoken. She cleared her throat self-consciously. "I mean… what I meant to say was she likes _you_ as much as she likes _me_ ," she stammered.

"Natasja, something has changed between us now. This was not what I wanted."

She threw him a fast, sideways glance and answered with decision. "I know what you want, Brynjolf. And what I want is to end this conversation and try to have some fun tonight."

"Then are you still interested in spending time with me tonight? I mean to relax and have a drink?"

"Yes. And I'd still like to stay in your room too, if you're willing."

"Of course I'm willing, lass, more than willing."

"And can you also take care of Merc for me while I'm gone? By the time I get back, he'll probably be yours anyway."

"Will you still be mine?"

"I'm not yours. I belong to no man." She struggled from his grip as he tried to gather her into his arms again. "Bryn, please stop." The pain in his eyes changed into resentment with alarming speed. "You know I think you're a wonderful man, and we've had some very special times together recently, but you are not my future, just as I am not yours."

"What is it with you?" he asked, sounding aggrieved. "I understand why you'd be put off by what I said earlier, but I also said I cared for you deeply. Is that not enough for you?" His voice was surprisingly strong, his face reddened with emotion.

"It is enough. But I think some distance between us will do us a bit of good too," she lied. "So let's not rehash this all again, Bryn. I want to have some fun tonight. Let's just go to the Flagon and have a few pints."

With that, he was left to follow her back to the Cistern, feeling like a dog with his tail between his legs. It was then he realized the night would not progress as he'd hoped.

She bee lined for the Flagon and sucked down an ale before Brynjolf had caught up to her. She moved to sit with Viper as soon as Brynjolf came in. He stood in the middle of the tavern and stared at the back of her head, watching how greedily she was drinking, and he felt guilty. He convinced himself it was a kindness, a way to help her through a difficult and long night. But maybe it had been purely selfish.

"Are you all right, lass?"

"Never better, boss."

 _So now we're back to "boss"?_ She was goading him so obviously he almost pitied her. "You will regret drinking heavily when your horse is trying to keep up with Mercer." She looked at him and didn't argue.

Thrynn passed by Brynjolf and said, "Mercer wants to see you."

"Blast!" Mercer was the last person he wanted to talk to, but there were dealings that needed attention while Mercer was gone.

Natasja continued to throw the drinks back, and she got a little wild and began flirting with the other men. Brynjolf sidled up to her and offered on last piece of advice. "You do yourself no favors by flirting with the other men and acting on frivolous impulses."

"I'm simply having a carefree moment." She was swept with a sense of outrage that she certainly did not have to pretend to have. "You know nothing of me, Brynjolf. _Nothing_. Why don't you go catch forty winks and leave the fun and high jinks to us young folk?"

Her sharp tongue stung him. Never had she mentioned their difference in age. _Is this the beginning of the end?_ he wondered. He left, but not before giving her a warning. "My door will be locked in one hour."

"Fine."

By the time he returned to his room, she had passed out from the alcohol. He clenched his fists in frustration. "How did this day turn out so backward?" He looked at her and saw the choppy rapid breathing induced by her stupor.

He sighed, and then he too lay down on his bed, for the dawn would come sooner than later. And it did. It seemed to him he had only just laid his head down when the sounds of the Cistern shook him awake.

There had been times recently he wished he was alone again, or at least had his own space. Now that he had nothing but his own space, he felt so empty he thought he was something fragile that would crumble at the first bruising blow. And he hated it as it embarrassed him in so many different ways he couldn't quantify it. Or could he?

All the time he had known that it was her: her face, her eyes, the way she walked, the scent of her hair. She haunted him, whether she was out of his sight for minutes or hours or days.

What a fool he had been, what a bloody fool. He was in love with her. He hadn't been looking for it, and certainly hadn't wanted these kinds of feelings and emotions again in his lifetime, but they were there nonetheless, and there was nothing he could do about them.

Except tell her the moment she returned.

"Hurry home, Natasja," he whispered into the silence.

The foundations of his heart and mind were set in stone, as it should have been weeks ago. A peace settled in his heart in a place he'd forgotten existed. And he smiled.


	9. The Madness of Love

Natasja struggled to lift her head from the pillow just before dawn. As predicted, she awoke with a formidable hangover, and shifted uncomfortably beneath the warm weight of Brynjolf's arm, careful not to wake him. He was sleeping so peacefully. She wanted to touch him, to run her fingers through his hair **,** to kiss the scar on his cheek, but she was too afraid he might awaken. She scrubbed her hands over her face, but the uncomfortable truth did not dissipate. Natasja slipped out of the Cistern unnoticed, her heart heavy.

Mercer was waiting impatiently at the stables, and before she could say good morning, he mounted his horse and headed north. Within an hour, Riften was a distant memory. _Too bad all the pain can't be a distant memory._

Galloping next to Mercer somewhere near Shor's Stone, the little men with daggers were still working away in her skull, all stabbing in unison. Even through the throbbing, she would see a grassy field and think of the picnic she'd had with Brynjolf, or Mercer would shout some inane observation and she would remember the look on Brynjolf's face when he saw her pawing at Vipir in the Flagon, another disturbing memory of the previous night, a night sadly devoid of intimacy. She felt a little guilty, a little immoral having flirted with Vipir as she had, but re-focused her thoughts on what had to be done today, convinced she had done the right thing in brushing Brynjolf aside the night before. Yet she still loved him. The feeling was wonderful, and terrifying. _When I get back, this has to be sorted out. I cannot live this way._

* * *

Brynjolf had been right about Mercer's relentless pace; they made it to Snow Veil Sanctum in less than two days.

"Get a move on, girl, and tie up your horse. Karliah is in there and I have a taste for blood."

"I don't usually tie up Saturnalia. She'll stay in the general vicinity."

"If she runs off, you're walking back to Riften," he said firmly.

"Are you always such a gentleman, Mercer? No wonder the women clamor for you."

"I give the orders, and you take them. One more snide remark and I'll hogtie you and gag your smart mouth," Mercer threatened.

"Promises, promises," she whispered to herself. If she could have killed him, she would have done it. Natasja had just dismounted near the entrance to the ruin when Mercer quickly slaughtered Karliah's horse, and if Natasja was insubordinate once more, she thought he might have done the same to her too. Eager to finish this matter with the Dunmer, she jogged down the stairs leading to the Sanctum and tried to unlock the heavy door.

"Out of the way, girl. There's a trick to these old doors." Mercer pushed something and poked something else, and the door opened with a great whoosh of air blowing out. "Now let's end this. You lead."

"Of course. It will be my pleasure to take all the hits while you stroll behind me."

For all she knew she was going to her death, yet she did not hesitate for a moment. Regrets were harbored deep in her heart and if the worst were to happen, she would take them to her grave. At least she'd felt like the Guild members were her family for a time, brief as it was. Her one true regret was leaving Brynjolf without saying she loved him and damn the consequences. In her heart, and contrary to what she told him, she was his more completely than he realized. She felt a tightness gathering in her stomach as a sense of urgency came over her. Getting back to Riften as soon as Karliah was taken care of was critical.

As they pressed on through the tomb, Natasja was impressed with Mercer's skills, battling the draugrs and avoiding the trip wires of the ancient tomb. She'd thought he might stay further back and let her clear out the threat, but he was right there, fighting at her side. _I don't understand this man at all._

"We're getting close to Karliah. I can smell her."

"Really? And what exactly does she smell like? Cinnamon, fruit, rotten meat?"

"A figure of speech, girl," he sneered as they reached an ancient puzzle door.

For a second time, Mercer managed to unlock it by knowing the secret, and again, he didn't fill Natasja in on exactly what the secret was. Once over the threshold, Natasja saw the Dunmer woman standing high atop a ruin, an arrow knocked and aimed directly at Mercer.

"Watch out, Mercer!"

Karliah shifted ever so slightly and Natasja dove and tumbled to the left. The arrowhead didn't puncture her skin but grazed along her thigh. Bracing herself, Natasja put her palms on the cold stone ground and pushed, but she was too weak; the poison took effect almost immediately. Every muscle seized and Natasja felt no sensations as she collapsed, the darkness filling in around her, her vision blurry and lopsided.

She heard a deep, mocking laugh. "Well, well, Karliah. At least you made this easier for me by taking care of the girl."

 _Mercer… a traitor! Gods, Brynjolf's in danger…._ As Natasja lay immobile on the ground, all she could do was listen to Karliah and Mercer. The Dunmer spoke, her voice drifting down from the pinnacle, her voice like that of a bird, not powerful, but expressive, with a lilting air.

"I know what you are, Mercer. Nocturnal knows what you are. You must pay for your crimes, and pay for Gallus's murder."

"Gallus could have looked the other way, but he was too honorable, too noble-minded to be guilty of such deceitful conduct."

"And you expected him to ignore your methods? Did you forget the oath you swore as a Nightingale?"

"Enough talk, Karliah! Let's finish this and reunite you with your precious Gallus."

"I'm no fool, Mercer. Crossing blades with you would be a death sentence." Karliah disappeared in a sudden swirl of black smoke, her voice echoing through the ruin. "But I promise you, the next time we meet, it will be your undoing."

"Come for me in your own time then, Karliah. I'll be waiting for you."

Natasja lay in a daze, addled, confused, and able to think of only one thing. _Brynjolf…._

"And as for you, girl…." Mercer's dark shadow moved toward Natasja. "Karliah has provided me the means to be rid of you finally. A pity Brynjolf wasn't here to see your failure. I'll be certain to rub it in his face while he grieves for you."

 _You will get what's coming to you!_ The words echoed in her head, but no sound came from her lips.

"What's that? Oh, you can't speak. Well, allow me to end your suffering." Mercer drew his blade back, trained eyes centering on the target, and he thrust forward, the tip of his blade piercing her femoral artery. "I hope you like your final resting place, girl." Her vision ebbed away as Mercer disappeared.

When Natasja awoke, Karliah was at her side. With what little energy and strength she had, she moved to sit up but flopped onto the ground once more, her features contracting in agony. "By the Gods, my body is half numb and half on fire. What did you do to me?"

"Don't try to get up so quickly." Karliah tilted Natasja's head back and forced more antidote into her mouth. "Tell me exactly how you are feeling"

"I'm sure you can imagine since you tried to kill me."

"My arrow was tipped with a paralytic poison which kept you from bleeding out." Karliah looked at Natasja as the antidote worked its way into her blood, counteracting the paralytic agent. She was recovering faster than most, Karliah noted; color bloomed on her cheeks within minutes. "You are alive _because_ of me."

"That's one way to look at it," Natasja said softly. "I think you just wanted me out of the way so you could bring down Mercer on your own."

"I couldn't fight Mercer alone. The poison was meant for him, but I didn't have a clear shot, so you ended up on the receiving end of that arrow."

"Why did you save me then?"

"Mercer must be brought before the Guild to answer for what he's done." Karliah knelt close to her and gently wiped her wound with a medicated cloth. "Now I can only hope you are willing to help me bring him to justice."

"Why didn't you just say that in the first place?" Steadier now, Natasja blinked but she couldn't shake the vague nausea that clung to her system. She didn't have the energy to argue either, barely had the energy to stand on her wobbly legs, but she did.

"Even with our combined fighting skills, Mercer would have bested us. He has… remarkable powers, stolen powers that would have ended us quickly."

"What is your plan then?"

"We need to go to Winterhold and have Gallus's journal translated by a friend of his named Enthir. Then I can prove Mercer's betrayal to the Guild. They won't simply take my word for it."

Anxiously, Natasja searched for her weapons but only found her sword. The dagger she'd had sheathed on her belt was missing. "Damn Mercer! He took my dagger."

"To prove your death, no doubt." Karliah watched as Natasja closed her eyes and mouthed a word silently. "What are you thinking?"

 _Brynjolf…._ "Just… nothing. And Gallus? I was told you killed him."

"Mercer stole from the Guild and Gallus found out. I was too late when I arrived here all those years ago, and Mercer had already killed him."

"And so you drew Mercer out by trying to bring down the Guild and angering Maven?" Natasja took a deep breath and blew it out. "You should have gone to Brynjolf. I know he would have weighed all the evidence before passing judgment on you. He is a reasonable man, Karliah."

"You know Brynjolf well, it seems. However, without proof, I doubt even Brynjolf would believe me. No one had any reason to be suspicious of Mercer, but I was a Dunmer thief who rose through the ranks quickly. It was quite evident that I was not trusted by the other members."

"So you and Gallus were lovers and he died protecting the Guild from Mercer, leaving you on the run all this time." She shook her head. "Gods, just another reason not to be involved with that thief."

"You say that as if you are already involved with someone. Brynjolf, I presume?"

"He's been a good friend to me." Tamping down her temper, Natasja met Karliah's gaze. She was reluctant to discuss her relationship with Brynjolf, but was already feeling a kinship with this woman, a connection she couldn't readily explain, but one she trusted all the same. "We are involved, or were involved. Gods, I don't even know what to call it, but I care for him very much. Mercer will go back to Riften and he might…." The mere thought of Brynjolf caused her heart to skip a beat.

"Mercer will do nothing rash or violent. But you _cannot_ alert Brynjolf. Mercer will have every resource available actively searching for me, and it's safer if he assumes you are dead."

"Safer for you perhaps. No, there must be a way." She wandered a few feet away, searching the snowy fields for an answer. "Saturnalia…."

"And who is that?"

"She's my horse." Natasja whistled and from deep in the woods, Saturnalia appeared and ran to her. "I want you to head for Riften, to Brynjolf. Riften!" The horse whinnied and stomped her foot. Natasja took out her dagger and scraped away several patches of hair from the horse's thigh. "Only Brynjolf knows what this means. He'll understand. He has to," she whispered.

"Your horse is our quickest way to Winterhold and you need healing once we're there. You'd risk dying on the way just to let Brynjolf know you yet live?"

"If it were you, and Gallus was waiting, what would you do?" There was sweetness in Natasja's voice, an unbearable tenderness that spoke of love and loss, which Karliah understood all too well.

"You love him then, as I love Gallus, even now."

"Please, Karliah." Natasja smiled a smile of desperate appeal. "Please don't fight me on this. I _owe_ him. I know he won't come looking for me. He cannot with his responsibilities to the Guild. I just want to give him some measure of comfort in all this."

When she contemplated her life without Gallus, Karliah nodded solemnly. "Do what you must then. And I'll pray your horse has the sense to do what you tell her."

"So long as she evades bandits, she'll find her way back." Natasja slapped Saturnalia's rear end. "Run now! To Riften!"

"Drink this." Karliah handed her a vial as they watched the horse gallop away. "It will ease the pain and slow the infection. If we push, we might make Winterhold by sundown. I'll explain what the Nightingales' role in this is on the way."

Natasja limped alongside her, following the Dunmer northwest. She embraced the pain, a reminder of not only what she must accomplish, but also of what she had gained that day in the ruins - her life, and another chance at love.

* * *

One long, miserable week had passed, and Brynjolf awoke from another fitful sleep to find Mercer standing at his desk and looking no worse for the wear. Relief washed over him. Karliah was taken care of without incident, but Natasja hadn't come to him upon her return. _She must be angry with me still_ , he thought _. I think I can change her mind, if I could only find her._ As he peered throughout the Cistern, he saw no sign of her.

"Mercer," he said gruffly as he approached the desk.

"Ah, Brynjolf. I was wondering when you'd rouse yourself from sleep to speak to me."

"I had no idea you were back," he said, his gaze continuing to sweep the room in search of Natasja. "Why didn't you wake me last night?"

"There was no reason to. The trip was… unsuccessful on several levels."

"Did you not find Karliah?"

"Oh, we found her all right. But she got away again, although not before injuring both of us." Mercer shifted his weight, leaning away from the desk. Brynjolf caught a look of edginess in Mercer's dark eyes, but nothing more.

"You were _both_ hurt? Nothing serious, I assume."

"I'll live."

Brynjolf looked around the Cistern as his heart began to race. "So, where is she, Mercer?"

"I don't know where Karliah went, but we'll find her soon enough. She wants me dead as much as I want her-"

"Not Karliah," he said, growing impatient. "Natasja." Again, he saw no sign of her, and he felt the knot tighten in his stomach.

"Oh, the Nord girl. Like an impulsive child, she ran up the stairs to get to that bitch, and had a run in with one of Karliah's toxic arrows," he said dismissively. "But Karliah realized she couldn't best me, and she took off. That was the only reason I walked out of there alive."

Brynjolf had a moment of panic, then cleared his throat and spoke with more confidence than he felt. "So Natasja is with the healers at the temple then."

"When have you ever known Karliah to let anyone else escape with their life once hit with her arrow?" he scoffed. "With my injuries, I had no choice but to leave her there."

"'Leave her'?" His mouth had gone dry, his palms sweating as he gripped Mercer's desk. "You didn't try to get her to a healer? Did you administer any treatment or healing salves?"

Vipir and Rune heard Brynjolf's raised voice from the alcove and moved closer. Rune whispered to Vipir. "Have you seen Nat? I think Mercer is saying she hasn't returned."

Vipir shook his head, Brynjolf's expression saying more than Vipir wanted to know. He held up his hand to Rune. "Quiet now."

"I had no treatment for her injuries," Mercer said to Brynjolf.

"So you walked away and left her _alone_? Tell me where she, Mercer, or I swear, I'll-"

"You'll what?" Mercer interrupted, his steely eyes staring at Brynjolf. "If I didn't know any better, I'd have thought you had inappropriate feelings for your protégé. You weren't foolish enough to fall for her, were you Brynjolf?"

"Damn you, Mercer, tell me what's become of her!"

"Aren't you listening, man? Her _body_ is still in the Sanctum. She is dead."

"You can't be serious. She must have escaped somehow. She's a survivor, she's a…." _Dragonborn_. His mind was racing with thoughts of the events leading to her can't be dead, not like this, not so fast, not when he'd sworn to keep her safe.

"I'm sure you recognize this dagger," Mercer said, handing it at Brynjolf. "Proof enough for you?"

Brynjolf stared at the blade in his shaking hand. Flipping it over, he saw Natasja's initials on the handle, and he closed his eyes, his fingers tightening around the hilt. "No," he gasped, "It can't be true." He held fast to the desk, bracing his other arm.

Vipir's jaw dropped and he looked at Rune. "Go get Delvin." Rune blinked, then he blinked again and nodded awkwardly before sprinting off.

Mercer looked Brynjolf right in the eye. "Now, if there's nothing else, I have plans to make."

Brynjolf glanced at the impassive face of the man in front of him before bowing his head again. "Did she… suffer?" he finally asked without looking up.

"The arrow didn't kill her. Karliah's dagger across her throat finished that job."

Mercer's callous attitude infuriated Brynjolf, but at the same time, the cruel truth was beginning to take root in his mind. "And what of her belongings? Her horse?"

"Her horse? Why would I care about what happened to her horse?" For a moment, Mercer looked like a child caught with his fingers in a pie. "Look, it was an unfortunate loss for the Guild, one that will likely cause our coffers to suffer greatly, but her death was inevitable. You need to think about what's best for the Guild."

"She was one of _us_ , Mercer. Have you no feeling at all? She was one of _your own_! When did you turn into such a cold bastard?"

"I am not renowned for my patience, Brynjolf. Do not overstep your bounds," he snarled. "My first and only concern was ridding us of the poison that is Karliah. And since I failed at that task, I'm not really in the mood for a pointed argument with you."

"You lying son of a bitch!" Brynjolf gripped the dagger and raised it as a burning anger built up in his body.

Almost without thinking, Mercer's hand moved to his sword, fingers tightening in anticipation of dealing a quick death. There was a long moment of silence and neither man moved.

"Think before you act, Brynjolf. I do not intend to lay down my life for _anyone_."

A sound from deep in Brynjolf's throat broke free, as though a red-hot iron were piercing his heart. Brynjolf swallowed hard, but his mouth was still dry. There were no words left to speak, no details left to hear. He had to leave before the argument got hotter, while he was still in shock and before grief consumed him. Heavy legs carried him toward his room, his feet moving of their own accord.

Brynjolf pulled out his dagger, replacing it with Natasja's as Delvin ran up next to him and laid a hand on his shoulder. "Brynjolf?"

"Back off, Delvin."

Delvin's hand didn't falter, his gaze didn't waver, as he looked into Brynjolf's eyes. "Let's get some drinks, and we'll see this through with you," he said as he motioned toward Vex.

"Leave me alone, Del." Brynjolf shrugged off Delvin's hand as memories of Natasja came flooding back. "For fuck's sake, just leave me alone."

Vex moved to stop him, but Delvin grabbed her arm. "Let him go, Vex. He needs to think it through on his own."

"Don't you remember the last time?"

"He's not that man anymore, Vex." Delvin watched his friend leave with a grief-stricken twinge in his own heart. "He'll be all right. We all will."

Slamming the door of his room, Brynjolf tossed his old dagger aside and lowered himself slowly onto the bed, feeling older than he ever had, wearier than he'd been when he lost Anabel. His head dropped into his hands. Natasja was dead and all he could do was sit there with absolutely no idea what to do next. She was dead and he didn't know how it had happened. He would never see her again, never feel his heart melt from the warmth of her gaze, or hear her soft, uncertain laugh, or feel her fingertips caress him with infinite tenderness. He was already mourning that he had not done all he could to make a life with her; instead he was left alone to hustle, to make money for the Guild, and to grieve. The heart in which he had hid away all his secrets, all his hopes, was now stone cold. She was dead, and he felt himself as much the cause of her death as Mercer.

_How can this be happening? She can't be gone. Not yet… not yet._

"I'm sorry, lass," he whispered. Even though he sat, he was dizzy. He fumbled for the bottle of mead on the floor, his hand shaking and his fingers stiff. A long acidic mouthful of mead proved ineffective. So he drained more, and then more, until it was empty. Tears welled up in his eyes as his gaze swept the room, searching for something else of hers, anything he could hold to remember her by, to remind him of the last months of tranquility, everymoment spent with her a strange mix of pleasure and torment. No woman had ever affected him as she had. But there was little to remind him of her now. The room was empty except for a pile of wrinkled clothes and a pair of old boots, even the shirt she had worn no longer carried her scent, replaced with the musty odor of the Cistern.

His eyes fell on the nightstand. There was his strongbox, and inside, her journal, the only real proof he had left that she'd existed at all. He turned the key and the lid flew up. The sight of the journal from her first days in Riften mocked him, the thing she was happiest with when a quill was in her hands. He almost couldn't touch it, knowing her death would become reality. But he willed himself to grab it, vowed to turn the pages of her handwriting, swore to read the black ink on the parchment paper. Would he read of her aspirations and her failures, or perhaps her dreams? All her vulnerabilities a distinct part of her charm, and all cut short by the Dunmer's blade.

He rushed from his room, heading for the exit to the city and ran straight to the stables. His knees gave out as he stood in the space usually occupied by her horse, Saturnalia. Clutching the diary with trembling hands, he caressed the book's fragile cover. For as long he'd known her, she'd written passages about her days in Riften.

As he turned to the first page, there across the top, it read, _The private journal of Natasja Black-Nail. If you are reading this, I must be dead._ _Walk with the shadows, my friend, my beloved thief. I regret nothing, Brynjolf._

"Oh, lass…." He took a deep, ragged breath and turned the page. It began with her first day in Riften.

_What was I thinking coming to this sleazy town? And now this guy keeps calling me "lass" and he wants to recruit me into the Thieves Guild? He must be daft._

"Daft indeed." He let go a sad laugh.

The pages turned quickly but he was not missing a word, only pausing to ponder from time to time.

_Goldenglow was far from an easy job. Those idiots actually sent me with no one but Lydia to help, and by the grace of the Gods, I managed to escape with my life. Not so for Lydia. Gods rest her soul. But Brynjolf has been very attentive while I heal. I admit he is quite attractive, perhaps a bit old though. I wonder if he can keep up with the young ones in the Guild. Maybe that's why he never leaves the Cistern. Too old and rickety to run from the Guard. Still, he seems competent enough. And he is very well built. Well, he is a Nord. We are all built as such._

"Ah, so you did think me too old. But young enough at heart to capture your attention, lass."

_Damn that man. Bryn wanted me as much as I wanted him tonight. He kissed me at the stables and I saw stars. I don't blame him for being hesitant though. He did lose someone he loved so it's only natural he'd be afraid to get involved again. But I don't want any commitment, just his company. I think we could both use some affection. Time will tell I guess. Maybe I should have stuck with Delvin._

"Delvin would have loved properly. I hope you knew that."

_Why is Brynjolf teasing me so? Why does he affect me at all? And why in bloody blazes do I care? Gods, I hope Farkas will talk to me after how I treated him. I need a friend now. I hope we make it to Whiterun by sundown._

Guilt settled in his heart. Farkas was just her friend, a needed friend, but he hated him for it. "I didn't make it easy for you, did I?"

_I take it all back! Every single disparaging word I've said about Bryn. After last night, I can hardly think straight. And he was so sweet and gentle and so loving. Any woman could fall for a man like Brynjolf. And maybe he could love me someday. No, no. Best not to think in those terms. The gods have plans for me and I'm sure they don't include a happily ever after. Even so, I've never felt so at peace as I did in his arms last night._

"As did I, lass. As did I." With a somber heart and a heavy sigh, he bowed his head. He flipped a page back and noticed a sheet had been torn out. He thought back to that day but couldn't remember exactly what had happened between that night and the meadery, other than Natasja telling him to leave her alone. "A mystery not to be solved."

_Damn skeevers. I had to suck the venom from his leg! It was disgusting, and I hated him for it. Well, I hated him for about one second. Truth be told, I would have cut off my own leg to save him._

"Why didn't you tell me, lass?" He didn't know whether to laugh or cry. "I suppose I wasn't making it easy, once more."

_Now he knows what I am, and I'm extremely relieved. He was so calm about it all. I was foolish to wait so long, but he said it didn't matter to him, that I've stolen his heart. I'd rather he gave his heart to me freely though. I don't like to think that I've somehow manipulated his affections. Maybe I'm just being paranoid. Damn semantics._

"I did give it freely, but I didn't make it plain enough it seems. Gods be damned for taking her away before I could say it."

When he reached the last page, he ran his fingers over the writing, pausing over the center section, then continuing on until he reached the bottom. The lines were slightly blurry, as if drops of water had fallen on the page. He touched the spots lightly with his fingertips. "Tears shed, but why?"

_Last week I told him the Cistern was my home now, but that wasn't quite true. He is my home. Wherever he is, be it in a stable or in a snowstorm, Bryn is my home. I'm in love with him. I know this to be the truth with my whole heart and soul. There. I confessed it._

"She loves me… loved me. Sweet Divines, I should never have read this." The very last thing she wrote hit him like a punch to the chest, the air rushing out of him.

_I shouldn't leave without saying goodbye to him, but he doesn't love me. I'm just a body to him, just a plaything to idle away the hours, and if I stay here, I'll be reminded of that all the time. Maybe I'm destined to be alone._

He felt it snap in his chest, felt the numbness replaced with grief as it swept over him. The fact that she died alone was the worst part. Her whole life she felt alone. As a young girl, after everything that happened to her family, and then roaming Skyrim in search of her sister, all she ever wanted was a home again. The Guild members were much more than her friends. She had a family within the Cistern, and they all made her feel special. Brynjolf had failed to do the same.

Finally, he closed the book, stroking its vellum cover as if it were Natasja's hair. When he looked up, his eyes met the smiling eyes of a boy.

"It's not like your friend to leave her horse roamin' about."

"What?" Brynjolf blinked at the boy, surprised he was not alone. "What horse?"

"This one here. The Nord woman's pinto."

"Nord woman….? Saturnalia?" Brynjolf jumped to his feet. "Is it really you, girl?" He looked at the stable boy, dumfounded. "Did she have a saddle or pack on her?"

"No. Naked as the day she was born. But she seems healthy enough."

"This is incredible." Brynjolf closed his eyes and dropped his head. The horse nuzzled into him, whinnying low and mournfully. "Aye, she'll be missed by us all." Natasja's horse was one of the best mounts he'd ever seen. Saturnalia was dependable, even-tempered, intelligent, and meaner than a rabid dog when needed. He looked her over, noticing several jagged scratches but nothing serious. As he smoothed his hand over her thigh, he felt a rough patch of hair. Looking closer, he could see that her hair had been shaved in an irregular pattern, like symbols, or… letters. Brynjolf stared. Were his eyes deceiving him? They must be. This had to be pure coincidence.

"What do you see there?" the stable boy asked, thinking something was wrong.

"I think…" He fell silent. _These are letters… they spell…._ His heart skipped a beat, then raced. "Omak," he whispered, too low for the boy to hear.

"What's that you say?"

A flash of hope sprang from his heart. "Nothing, nothing. It's just an old scar," he said quickly. "Here's a little extra for your efforts." He handed the boy some coins and then grabbed him by the shoulders. "And extra for your silence in this matter." The boy knew Brynjolf's reputation and nodded eagerly. "I want you to take this horse to the Merryfair Farm and tell Dravin Llanith I will be by later to pay him to keep her for a while. You can get a saddle for her, lad. I'll see to her for a little while and get her fed and watered."

"Yes, sir. And thank you, sir!"

 _Omak means trouble. Could Natasja have done this?_ Brynjolf took out his dagger and shaved the area completely. _Gods, is she alive? Is this a message of some sort? Trouble_. "If only you could talk, Saturnalia. Where is Natasja? Did she send you here?" The horse snorted and bobbed its head up and down as if answering Brynjolf. "I can't believe I'm about to have a conversation with a horse. Did you see Natasja? Did she send you back to me?" he asked for a second time.

Again the horse repeated the gestures, moving her head up and down and snorting, only more impatiently this time. Holding Natasja's journal in his hand, Brynjolf held it to Saturnalia's nose. The horse sniffed it, licked it once, and then nuzzled Brynjolf's neck with his nose. When Brynjolf looked into her eyes, he knew, as crazy as it seemed, he knew Natasja was alive. Somewhere. Gods, it was too fantastic to believe, but there was no other explanation for the horse's return with "Omak" etched into her thigh. Brynjolf was the only person to know of the hated moniker her father had given her as a child.

Now undoubting, Brynjolf reined in his elation and thought to seek advice from Delvin before he accused Mercer of any wrongdoing. When he found him in the Flagon, he dragged Delvin away to a quiet corner and told him of Saturnalia's return. The joy on his face confirmed to Delvin that his friend was not insane, but overjoyed with the truth.

"You won't be able to track her though," Delvin said, seemingly as happy as Brynjolf. "I'm sure the snow's covered any sign."

"Maybe she left another clue there. By the Eight, Del, I'm having a hard time understanding any of this. Why would Mercer lie?"

"He's hiding something and it ain't good." Delvin shook his head. "But if you confront him, you'll get no further information from him. How 'bout I ride up to Snow Veil and check things out?"

"I don't want anyone put in danger's way because of this. Let me handle it. I just need a plan."

"I already have a plan. You can't leave here without raisin' suspicions, but I can. Mercer pays me no attention and won't care if I'm not around for a few days."

"Del, you can't do this. She's my responsibility."

"Now you're gonna tell me where I can and can't go?" He crossed the distance between them and grabbed him by the shoulders. "Look, Bryn, I haven't left this bloody mess of a town in years. It's high time I get out and do some explorin' of my own before I start hobblin' like a lame dog. I see how travellin' has changed you, so I'm gonna go and you can't stop me. Sit down and hear me out."

"And just what are we to tell the others?" Brynjolf asked as he sat down in the rickety chair next to Delvin.

"Tell them I'm going to Windhelm. That rival guild is still trying to set up shop there. Murderin' thieves are givin' our Guild a bad name. Two birds with one stone, eh?"

"You'll not go alone, Del." Brynjolf reached into his pocket and held out a pouch of coins. "Hire yourself a couple sword arms."

"I've got more coin on me right now than you've earned in a year, Bryn." Delvin waved him off. "I'll cover it. You'll be needin' your own funds to make amends with Nat, no doubt. Women are more forgiving when they're offered expensive gifts. Or have you forgotten that bit?"

Brynjolf couldn't help but laugh at the absurdity of it all. "You ought to be charming your own woman, Mallory. Life is too short, you know? I owe you one."

"Bah! You owe me nothing. Just keep your head around Mercer and watch him closely. Here." Delvin handed Brynjolf a parchment with a list of names and locations. "Give these out to the others and keep 'em busy. Less time for idle chatter among the Guild will keep Mercer out of your hair if he sees the profits rollin' in."

"I understand what an awkward position you're in. Thanks, Del." Brynjolf clapped him on the shoulder. "I have to admit seeing you on fire like this is a nice change."

"It seems Nat has brought out the best in both of us." Brynjolf shrugged, and Delvin saw the slight frown of worry he wore. "Brynjolf, she'll be back with us soon enough. Then you can get back to fawnin' over her like a lovesick pup."

Brynjolf nodded slowly. "All right then. I'm heading to the Merryfair Farm."

"You know, I'm thinkin' maybe a little recklessness is in order as well. I wonder if Viola Giordano is still hangin' around the Candlehearth. She was a right good shag back in the day. Wealthy too."

"One hand in her pocket and the other up her skirt, eh?"

"Now you're talkin' my language, friend."

"Just don't forget to come back," Brynjolf joked, then he grew serious. "Be careful, my friend. And thanks again."

"Get lost already, would ya? Before I shed a tear."

"Right." Brynjolf rose from the chair where he sat, and his eyes were shining with a newfound purpose. Heading to leave through the Ratways to avoid Mercer, he smiled.

_Soon, lass, you'll be home with me soon._


	10. Betrayal and Beyond

_It's awfully quiet in the Flagon tonight. Damn it, I can barely see. Vekel really needs to get some more torches in here, although it's not like this place_ _could ever seem_ _romantic_ _in the traditional sense. Then we'd see what's actually growing in here. Ew, what a horrifying thought._ _Oh, there's Bryn at the bar, and he looks… too damned happy! Doesn't he miss me at all? And w_ _hy doesn't he_ _see me? Maybe if I wave. Over here, Brynjolf! Hey, is that…? Why is Mercer here? He never drinks with us. Figures Mercer likes that nasty Shadowbanish wine and he's grinning like ... No ... Bryn, no! Don't drink it!_

"Bryn!" Natasja awoke in a cold sweat, the sheet twisted around her in knots.

"Easy, Natasja." Karliah's gentle voice calmed Natasja as the Dunmer held her hand and wiped her forehead with a cloth. "It was just a dream."

"A dream?" Natasja looked at her with anxious eyes; the dream did not make her fears any less real. "I have to… have to go back to Riften. Brynjolf's in danger."

 _It seems she loves him more than she lets on_ , Karliah thought. "We are leaving Winterhold for Markarth once the sun is up."

"Gods… Markarth. I forgot." Her eyes closed at the thought. "All right, so let's leave now. The sooner this translation is done, the sooner I can go back home."

"It's not quite daybreak, Natasja. Another hour and then we'll leave. Rest now." Karliah looked away, thinking about what Natasja said. "So… you consider Riften your home?"

"Didn't you when you were part of the Guild?" Sitting up slowly, Natasja rubbed her eyes, dispelling the nightmare as best she could.

"In a sense. Gallus was my home, and wherever he was, I felt at ease. But as I told you earlier, I had also pledged my life to Nocturnal as a Nightingale." A sad smile spread across Karliah's lips. "Loving Gallus was a mistake."

Natasja gave her a quizzical look but kept her tone even. "You regret your involvement with him?"

Karliah wanted to be honest with Natasja, wanted to be a friend to her, but she wasn't sure whether she could completely trust her yet. Maybe a private discussion such as this would be of value. "I regret not being able to save Gallus," she said, sadly, "and I very much regret not being able to make Mercer pay for his betrayal at the time. But the happiest years of my life were spent by Gallus's side. I will never regret loving him. I wanted to die the day I found him... l think a part of me _did_ die that day, the part of me that was full of hope and tenderness. Everything was dead and empty for a long time afterward."

With glistening eyes, Natasja held Karliah's gaze for a moment, and then hung her head **.** "I've never known love like that before."

"Before _now_ , you mean?" As Natasja nodded her head twice, Karliah smiled sweetly, knowingly, the blush on Natasja's cheeks giving away the truth.

"I wasn't looking for it," Natasja said, a subtle fear in her eyes. "I just wanted companionship, some peace before…." She paused with thoughts of the Dragonborn mantle. _Not the time to share that with Karliah_. "Well, the Guild offered money and excitement and the kind of family I never had in the past."

"And so you think love and commitment won't work well together in our line of business," Karliah said, shaking her head in rejection of the notion.

"Brynjolf told me that once, but I didn't believe him. Maybe he was right." An unexpected comfort and calm washed over Natasja as she looked at Karliah. It was as if she had read Natasja's mind all along, knowing her as if they had been close friends for years.

"Brynjolf has had his share of sorrows, but he's been around long enough not to believe that." Karliah shifted a little closer to her. "As I remember him, he is a truthful and caring man."

"He is," Natasja agreed. "I just don't know if he genuinely wants a life with me or not. And even if he did, I'm not so sure I can give it to him."

"Don't turn love away if you've found it," Karliah urged. "We only live so long."

"But you said loving Gallus was a mistake?"

"Hiding away and closing your heart to all feeling, living in dread of losing someone you care about and running away from love… that seems a poor alternative." Wistfulness clouded Karliah's violet eyes. "You feel the desire, the fear and anxiety, and the pleasure, all weaved together, so the two people become one, and then there are no boundaries. It is a fear worse than death at times, but life is always full of risks."

Natasja sighed. "You make it sound so simple."

"It is simple." Karliah's head was still cocked to the side and her brows fully pinched in consideration. "It only seems complicated to the ignorant, to those who won't allow themselves to revel in it." She smiled then, patting Natasja's arm soothingly. "But I think you know this already. Can you imagine your life without Brynjolf in it?"

Natasja frowned. "It is true, I do miss him more than I thought I would." Tears brimmed in her eyes; the thought of being away from him for several more weeks was agonizing. The mere sound of his voice brought her calm. Except for this moment with Karliah, she had little peace now, only questions and fears. Natasja looked at Karliah's serene face and wondered how she had ever survived losing Gallus. "I thought I was used to the emptiness, the voids in my life. But since I've known him, my life has taken a new turn, like I've finally found a family, a home. And to live without that now? No. That would surely end me."

"Then you have the answer. Mistakes open doors to possibilities we would otherwise never have known existed. A life without mistakes, while being perfect, would be incredibly boring and meaningless." Natasja nodded slowly and thoughtfully. "Well, I think that's enough philosophical discussion for now. Since you're awake, we might as well gather our things and prepare to leave. I've secured the wagon to take us to Markarth. Hopefully, we will not have to remain there long."

Karliah moved to stand, but Natasja pulled her close and hugged her tightly as she whispered. "Thank you, Karliah. I can understand why Gallus felt so calm and contented by your side. You are… very soothing, your voice as well as your wisdom."

Natasja smiled at the older, wiser woman, hoping Karliah would remain her friend, her confidant, and maybe even a mentor of sorts for as long as the gods allowed. And maybe over the next few weeks she could hone her archery skills, too. _Make the best of it_ , she told herself. _And Stendarr help those who keep me from getting back to Riften swiftly_.

* * *

The travelling eased Delvin's mind. He was taking control rather than being a victim of circumstance. More importantly, he was travelling to find information about the woman his friend loved; a woman Delvin himself had grown quite fond of. Delvin and the mercenaries rode through the night, their horses' pounding hooves eating up the miles, one mercenary at point, and the other behind Delvin. When they arrived in Windhelm, they spent half the day settling old scores in town and the other half getting their rivals, the Summerset Shadows, in line. Later that night, Delvin found himself in the company of not one, but two rich widows who were more than happy to attend to his needs.

When the sun rose the next morning, Delvin and his mercenaries headed for Snow Veil. Upon arrival, there was no trace of Natasja, although he did find the remains of a horse and an encampment, presumably Karliah's. They were half way to Winterhold at that point, and Delvin decided there was a fair chance Natasja and Karliah would have gone to the city to seek healing.

Once in Winterhold, Delvin went straight to the Frozen Hearth, the only inn in the town. Surely, it was the one place he could get information. The heat and clamor from inside the tavern assaulted Delvin with the force of a fire spell as he yanked open the heavy wooden door. He approached the proprietor, who at that moment was rearranging the knick-knacks on the counter.

"I'm lookin' to rent a room tonight," Delvin said with a smile. "Got any?"

"Sure. Name's Haran," he said, nodding. "It'll be ten septims for the night."

"Nice place ya' have here, Haran. Warm and inviting."

"I like to think so. Most of Winterhold washed away years ago. Money comes in from the mages up at the College now. If you ask me," Haran leaned in and whispered, "I think them mages would be happy to take over the whole town. I wager they will in time."

"Mages are funny like that, eh?" Delvin offered. "Can't trust any of 'em."

Haran nodded, happy to have a kindred spirit agreeing with him. "You and me ought to have a drink later, friend."

"Aye, let's do that." With a sly smirk, Delvin slid twenty gold pieces toward the man. "I'm searchin' for a woman, an associate of mine. Tall, fair-haired Nord with a firm ass and a nice rack, lots of scars. I'm thinkin' she's been in Winterhold recently. She might have been injured too."

"I may have seen someone matching that description, and I may not have. My vision gets clouded from time to time."

 _Can't fault him for wantin' a little something extra,_ Delvin thought. "Will this jog your memory?" he asked, sliding some more gold pieces across the counter.

Haran stuffed the gold straight into his pocket with a grin. "She was here, and she was wounded. Had to send for a healer up at the College. No shortage of coin on the elf she was with either. That Dunmer hired a wagon to take them to Markarth."

"A Dunmer? A Dunmer _woman_?" The man nodded. "Did you happen to notice the color of her eyes?"

"Yeah, they were violet. Not bloody red like the rest of them."

 _This is getting interestin'_. "Went to Markarth, you say. That's quite a ways." Delvin couldn't go to Markarth, but this was a telling sign, perhaps an ominous sign. "And these two women were friendly with each other? The Nord wasn't made to leave against her will or anything?"

"Not that I could tell. The Dunmer watched over her all night, made sure she was healing up. When they left, they seemed like old friends, laughing and blathering on about nothing like women tend to do."

For some reason, Natasja befriended Karliah and headed for Markarth. Would that be the last the Guild ever saw of Natasja and Karliah? "Anything else you overheard? Like why they were headed to Markarth?"

"I can't really say. The only thing I heard was a conversation they had with a Bosmer mage. Something about translating the old Falmer language. The Dunmer woman and the mage were hunched over a book of some sort for over an hour."

"Seems you've heard quite a bit," Delvin drawled. "Is there anything else I should know, _friend_?" Delvin's voice carried more threat this time, eager to get back to Riften and tell Brynjolf the news.

"That's the lot of it." Delvin held out some more money, then quickly closed his fingers around the coins. "You can give me that coin, but I've no more information for you."

Delvin slipped him the coin anyway. "All right. Thanks. You've never seen me, friend."

"Never."

The hour would afford Delvin little time before sunset, but he had to get back to Brynjolf and make some sense of his discoveries. He left the inn, whistling to one of the mercenaries to fetch the horses. "Back to Riften, Jora!"

The mercenary groaned, all his carnal plans for the evening blown away with the frosty air whipping down the path to Riften.

* * *

Natasja and Karliah's time spent in Markarth was successful, and the two women became fast friends, trading stories, joking, and relaxing in between their efforts to have Gallus' journal translated. Natasja worked on her archery skills and Karliah thought she had the ability to be just as accomplished as she was, maybe even more. Their friendship forged quickly over the days, but it was strong, built on honesty and deeper need for companionship than either one of them had realized they both needed. Now, several weeks later, they arrived at the Riften stables as the shadows of late afternoon began to spread across the land.

"Hello! Anyone here?" Natasja shouted breathlessly, her eyes searching the stable for Saturnalia. "Shadr!"

"What's all the ruckus?" Shadr appeared from behind the stalls, feeding buckets hanging from his hands. "Oh, it's you. Where've you been lately?"

"Has my horse returned?" Natasja asked, anxiously.

"I haven't seen her. The only horses here are those two dappled-grays and Brynjolf's horse, Hammersteed."

Natasja's heart sank. Saturnalia wasn't there, probably dead, and Brynjolf none the wiser. As always, peace was so near, yet impossibly distant.

Trying to maintain her composure, Natasja directed Karliah to head for the cemetery and make herself scarce while Natasja headed for The Bee and Barb, practically sprinting the entire way. The tavern was not busy when she pushed open the door, the supper hour not yet having arrived. Sapphire was milling around as usual, waiting for something exciting to happen, but it never did, unless she counted the occasional grope by a drunkard, which always ended in a bar brawl.

Natasja approached her cautiously, but wore a friendly smile. "How are you, Sapphire?"

Eyeing Natasja warily, she asked, "Do I know you?"

"All right, Sapphire. Get it off you chest if you have to."

"You're damn lucky Delvin came back from Winterhold with news of you or I'd have cut you down the second you walked in here!"

Surprised by this, Natasja ignored the intensity of Sapphire's angry outburst. "Del was in Winterhold?"

"Searching for your ass. He said you were travelling with that traitorous bitch. So are you?"

"Everything will make perfect sense when you hear what I've uncovered about Mercer," Natasja asserted. "Has he been around?"

"He's been gone for over a week. Delvin figured Mercer tried to kill you. Is it true?" Natasja nodded somberly. "Well, I'd say you owe Del anyway."

"I'd say you're right. And I _will_ make it up to him, to everyone. But first, I need you to get this note to Brynjolf."

"And why should I?"

"Because I asked you to. It's critical to the Guild, Sapphire. Do you really want to be without a livelihood?" Natasja put on her most diplomatic face and inched closer. "Please take this to Bryn, and tell him to hurry and meet me at the Shrine of Talos in the cemetery."

"Fine. But now you owe me." Natasja delved into the small sack purse she kept on her belt and rummaged around. Producing three large and flawless sapphires, she handed them to her fellow Guild member. "These are remarkable. I've never seen anything like them," she whispered, then stopped herself from seeming too appreciative. "Well, thanks then."

She flung open the doors, leaving Natasja laughing and feeling quite smug _. I'll break her shell yet._

* * *

Staring at the Shrine of Talos, Natasja thought to pray for guidance and strength, to pray for happiness and healing, for some semblance of peace in her life. Brynjolf was the man who offered that peace, his mere presence a reassuring source of solace. She couldn't wait to see him, to tell him all that had happened between Snow Veil and Markarth, to watch his smile transform his face over something she'd said. She loved to see him smile, to see his eyes light up, banishing the weary isolation she saw too often in his gaze. The desire to see him, to touch him ... She was practically trembling with needs. But her eager anticipation was tempered by mounting anxiety.

_What if he's angry with me? What if he's lost interest and found another these last weeks? He did blow me off before I left. What if he-_

"Don't tell me you've found religion, lass."

"Brynjolf…." His name came out as a breathy sigh. Before Natasja turned around, she closed her eyes and said a prayer this time. Turning slowly to face him, she looked at him, and she didn't know whether to hug him or hit him. In the end, she did neither.

"Good to see you in one piece, Natasja." He appraised her quickly, noting her weight loss, her face more gaunt than before. She just stared at him, entranced. "Are you all right? Say something, or I'll have to slap you." Then he laughed, with an abandoned and booming laugh, like the laugh of a boy who was completely tickled. Right then, her knees went weak and her arms wrapped around him.

Brynjolf chuckled softly, holding her steady with strong arms. When he pulled his head back to examine her again, he kissed her. The kiss was chaste, but the feel of his lips on hers, the firmness of his body resting lightly against her, the scent of his skin and the touch of his rough hand against her cheek almost stopped her heart. "Just like I remembered, lass."

"It hasn't been that long, has it?" The soft and achingly tender kiss had left her off-kilter as they parted, but she smiled and poked his arm anyway.

"Long enough." They slipped back into their easy familiarity without a moment's thought, and she gave him a warm smile that gave him thrilling shiver. "But why meet here?"

Her gaze gave away nothing, and she was just about to speak up when Priestess Nura cleared her throat loudly. Natasja and Brynjolf separated further, begrudgingly remembering they were standing near a place of worship.

"Bryn, I… It's so good to see you. I was worried Mercer would hurt you… or worse."

"Mercer had no idea about Saturnalia's return. I sent her to Merryfair Farm for safe keeping."

"She wasn't hurt at all?" He shook his head. "Amazing."

"Aye. Anyway, Mercer has been gone for many days now. No one knows where he went. Did Sapphire tell you that Del went to Winterhold looking for you?"

"Yes, and now I owe Delvin, too, it seems."

"He was more than happy to leave Riften for a while. He won't want any payback."

"I'm still going to find a way to make it up to him."

When she smiled at Brynjolf again, his heart missed a beat. _What a beautiful woman_ , he thought. _I have missed her_. His heart was soaring, and he couldn't wait until he could tell her how he deeply he felt for her, how he loved her. But there were a few items to iron out before they were alone. For now, he would give her a glimpse inside his heart. "When I thought you were dead ... all the things we never said to each other ... Well, I was relieved to see your horse with a message for me."

Brynjolf held her gaze, and it was as if he held secret information about something. What was that in his eyes? Humor? No, but there was something there, an intensity. His eyes were filled with meaning and questions. Something had changed.

_My journal!_

"You read my journal, didn't you?" There was no accusation in her voice, but she looked nervous and intimidated.

"I did. I wanted something to remember you by. It was not my intention to-"

"It's all right, Bryn. I should have told you most of that already anyway. Once this mess with Mercer is cleared up, I'll…." she stopped and looked away.

"You'll what? Don't run away from me, lass. We've much to discuss," he said, hopefully. "And just to be clear, I'm not going to keep you here against your will, but I'd prefer if you stay in Riften... permanently."

The tickle in her stomach shot straight to her heart. Gods help her, but she wanted to stay with him more than she'd wanted anything in years. "Let's see how things go," she said, pushing strands of hair behind her ear. "We'll talk it out later."

"We will, and I apologize now for my… lack of understanding before you left. We should get back to the Cistern. Shrines are not a place I care to linger." He leaned in to whisper in her ear. "Too much… mumbling and chanting. I think Nura frowns upon our loose morals, too."

"Speak for yourself, thief. My morals are not loose."

"Well, some of mine are rather deficient. But we can… explore those later." The look in his eyes at that moment was so curious, so full with a glow of inner delight, she nearly whimpered. Under any other circumstance, she would have jumped him. _Business first..._ "There's someone you need to meet before we go." She took a deep breath, steeling herself for his reaction. Natasja looked over her shoulder and waved to Karliah.

"What is _she_ doing here?" Brynjolf stepped forward and grabbed Natasja's arm, his lungs squeezed empty in the process. "You better have a damn compelling reason for bringing her to Riften, lass."

His voice sounded a tad too threatening for Natasja's liking. "She saved my life, Bryn. You have to trust me," she snapped," and please, show her some respect."

"She doesn't deserve my respect! She killed our former Guild Master. Don't ask me to-"

"Just hear us out," Natasja cut him off. "It's not what you think."

"Brynjolf." Karliah stepped forward. "There is much you do not know about. Read this and then judge me."

"What is this?" he demanded, flipping the pages roughly. "This is… Gallus was spying on Mercer… I can't believe this… what was Mercer... Sweet Divines, this is mind-boggling." Brynjolf hung his head, distressed by the words he read. His jaw clenched and his shoulders stiffened as he passed the journal back to Karliah. "Mercer, that snake! He's been stealing from the Guild, and he killed Gallus? I will rip his heart out with my bare hands! "

"And you've got us to help with that," Natasja said.

"I encouraged you to go with him! The man cared nothing for me, for any of us." A sudden guilt tore at him. "Karliah, the years we've spent slandering your name. I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault," Natasja said with a gentle hand on his arm. "He was a manipulator, a greedy bastard, and no one could have seen this coming."

Karliah stepped closer. "Natasja is right, Brynjolf. For all these years I've been on the run, the only one I truly blamed was Mercer, not the Guild."

Brynjolf shook his head, reigning in his rage and replacing it with pragmatism. "This is more of a disaster than I could have imagined. We have to formulate a plan and find Mercer, but first we have to get back and check the vault. I have a sinking feeling the Thieves Guild is now bankrupt."


	11. Promises

"Bryn, how often is the cistern empty? For Mercer to get away with all this right under your noses there must have been times when no one was around to see what he was doing." Brynjolf's head snapped around, his glower on full display as Karliah kept a respectable distance behind them. "Sorry, I'm not placing blame, just trying to make sense of all this."

Knowing she was as nervous as he was about what they would find, the deep breath did little to assuage his anxiety. "I admit we've grown complacent. At one time, there was always at least one person keeping an eye on things. Even so, I wager Mercer had an accomplice to help him."

"I think I have a better answer for you," Karliah said. "And I hate to say it again, but don't be surprised to find the vault empty, Brynjolf. It may have taken Mercer longer to achieve his goal than he originally thought, but I have no doubt he did accomplish it."

Brynjolf's mouth twitched. "It does seem like that's the direction we're heading in." His words were stripped of all repartee now. Natasja couldn't remember hearing his voice so full of restrained anger mingled with resignation. "If we confirm his treachery... Shor's stones, it won't be good."

The narrow hallway leading into the cistern was as dark and damp as always, but thieves now lined the entryway with weapons drawn, suspicious and agitated, and all throwing heated questions at Brynjolf in rapid succession.

"Is it true, Brynjolf? Has Mercer betrayed us?"

"Where is the bastard anyway?"

"Why did you ever trust that Nord girl, Bryn?"

"Does that Dunmer bitch have some sort of control over _your protégé_?"

Brynjolf's eyes shot to Sapphire, a simmering anger in his tone. "Spreading rumors will not keep you in the Guild's good graces." Sapphire shrank back before he swept his gaze over the other thieves.

"…his trust between her legs," Tonilia muttered.

"I've heard enough!" At Brynjolf's fierce look of disapproval, Tonilia's mouth snapped shut. "I trusted Natasja before, and I trust her now. So should you all. She has brought us evidence that Mercer is the traitor, not Karliah. Put that weapon away, Cynric. You too, Niruin. All of you, sheath your weapons," he ordered with a dark glare, the type of glare that didn't need any more words to go with it.

Delvin saw it, the absolute faith Brynjolf had in Natasja, and he couldn't fault it. Delvin felt much the same about her. Karliah was defensive in her posturing, stone-faced, and Delvin couldn't fault her either. She'd been hated and condemned by many of them for the last twenty years. No easy position for her to be in. "Bryn, care to let us in on what's goin' on here?"

"Karliah and Natasja had Gallus' journal translated in Markham. Gallus figured out that Mercer had been stealing from the Guild for years, and he was close to blowing Mercer's scheme wide open. But what's even worse is he-" Brynjolf stopped, his expression a strange mixture of sadness and betrayal. " _He_ killed Gallus, not Karliah. The bastard snowed us all."

Every pair of eyes darted from Brynjolf to Karliah, some skeptical, some believing.

Vipir moved to stand next to Natasja, placing a hand on her shoulder. "I didn't believe any of the rumors about you, Nat. I swear it."

"Thanks, Vipir. And believe me when I say that Karliah is a good woman too."

"You and Bryn share that opinion and I trust you both." The alert group in front of them relaxed a little when they saw Vipir's calm and supportive posture.

Natasja's gaze lingered on the most disbelieving of the thieves: Thrynn, Cynric and Niruin. "Karliah was behind the Goldenglow and Honningbrew jobs, trying to anger Maven and it ended up forcing Mercer's hand. We actually owe her a debt for bringing this mess to a head." Natasja looked at Karliah, her eyes as compassionate as her smile. "This woman has been through more than any of you can imagine over the years, and all due to Mercer's greed. She harbors no ill will toward the Guild or its members, only Mercer. If we are to keep the Thieves Guild in business, we _must_ stand together as a united front, no matter what we find or don't find in the vault."

At that moment, Brynjolf was proud of Natasja, so damned proud of her he wanted to pull her close and hug her tightly. "I couldn't have said it any better myself, lass." But no smile graced his face, only the clear understanding of what would happen next. "To the vault then."

"Back up a blessed second, Bryn. How could Mercer break into a vault that needs two keys? There's no way he could've picked it."

"That door has the best puzzle locks money can buy," Vex said. "I've spent more time trying to pick that lock than I have out on jobs." A few eyebrows rose at that. "To make sure it was unbreakable, you idiots."

"He didn't need to pick the lock," Karliah said as she followed them.

Brynjolf peered at her over his shoulder. "You can explain your theory after we get into the vault. Use your key, Del. The whole truth lies inside and not on anyone's lips."

Delvin's key slid into the hole and he turned it partway around. "Now you, Bryn."

Brynjolf stared at his key, willing his hand steady. "The moment of truth." With a slow twist and a click, he unlocked the door and slipped inside.

Empty. The vault door stood wide open, as were the wooden chests within — and every chest was empty.

"By the eight, it's true."

All that remained were insignificant items that had been obviously left, bits and pieces of no import, lying in disarray on a bundle of cloth, confirming the unspeakable.

"He took everything, every bit of gold, the jewels, all our plans." Delvin stood between Brynjolf and Natasja, thunderstruck.

"That son of a bitch. I'll kill him!" Vex reached for her blade and launched forward, her eyes boring into Natasja's. "And you too!"

Natasja thrust out her arm, her hand poised to squeeze Vex's throat.

"Vex! Stow it. Right now," Brynjolf ordered. "This isn't the time to lay blame and lose your head."

Delvin strong-armed his way between the two women. "Come on, Vex, this ain't helpin' matters."

"Fine. I'll back off for now. But if any of this points to her, I promise I'll make her pay," Vex spat as Natasja spun around and dragged Vipir toward a large pickling barrel used to hold salt pile.

"You smell that, Vipir? It smells like rotten eggs."

"That's death, Nat. The smell of the dead."

Something was sticking out of the barrel, something that looked like… a foot?

"Gods, that's a foot," Natasja said. "And what's that attached to the toe?"

Vipir pulled on the tag and made a sound of surprise as he looked at it. "A circle with a square inside. Hey, Del, Mercer has a message for you."

Delvin snatched the note. "Bloody bastard. That's my shadowmark for 'empty'."

Brynjolf's breathing grew labored and his nostrils flared. "Gods damned thief adding insult to injury."

Natasja braced herself against the wall and pushed the barrel over with both legs. Viper helped her unload the contents. The body of a stranger slid out, only partially dehydrated, and from the look of it, the person had only been dead a couple days.

"That's one loose end he tied up," Delvin remarked as he searched the body carefully. "A short man..no personal effects. Looks like fancy mage robes, don't it?"

"Aye." Brynjolf's mind was whirling as his mouth ran on of its own accord. "Vex and Del, go watch the Flagon. Mercer won't set foot near us again, but you never know who else is working for him. No strangers in or out. And send Dirge here to get rid of this body and tell him to put out feelers for information on a missing mage."

Vex grabbed Delvin by the arm, dragging him off as he spoke. "Keep us informed, Bryn. We're takin' Niruin with us too!"

"The rest of you, stay on guard and watch the entrance. Sapphire, you head outside and remain hidden around the cemetery for a while, keeping an eye out for strangers."

"Me? Why do I have go out there?"

"Because I told you to," Brynjolf said with a sternness in his voice that made it abundantly clear she was dealing with a remarkably different second-in-command now. "We'll work in shifts, and I'll send out someone to switch with you in two hours."

Feeling as though this was her punishment for spreading rumors, a sentence she realized she deserved, Sapphire nodded respectfully and walked away.

"Brynjolf," Karliah whispered stepping forward, "there are still a few very important pieces to this puzzle, things you don't know about Mercer. Natasja already knows some of it, but I think it would be best if no one other than you heard just yet."

"It can't get any worse, can it?" he asked.

"I'm afraid so."

"Blast." Brynjolf's nerves were shot. It was harder than ever to maintain his usual optimistic outlook. "Okay, the three of us are going to sit down, eat something, and plan our next move."

After the first rush of mindless motion, the minutes ticked away in silence as one by one, the thieves dispersed. Natasja moved to sit next to Brynjolf, with Karliah across from them. Quiet still hung over the table as Brynjolf slid a plate of cheese and bread toward Natasja, encouraging her to eat with a small smile and a nod. Karliah shifted uneasily.

"All right, lass, tell me how Mercer was able to get inside the vault."

"First, you must know that Mercer is a Nightingale, a member of the trinity that included Gallus and me."

"You must be daft. The Nightingales aren't real."

"They are very real, and very dangerous. Everything you've read about the Nightingales is true, Brynjolf, but the details of Mercer's induction do not matter right now. What does matter is that he stole the Skeleton Key of Nocturnal, which is a unique and unbreakable lockpick able to release any lock's mechanism, and that is how he got into the vault. But more importantly, the key is also a tool that can expand the mind of whoever possesses it, unlocking hidden potential and untapped abilities. This is why it so frightening to know it is in Mercer's corrupt hands."

He looked into Karliah's eyes and knew she was serious. Hearing the truth was hard enough for Brynjolf. Admitting the truth was even harder. "But Nocturnal is supposed to be a daedric prince. How could she let a simple thief steal the key?"

"That is a mystery. Some say she revels in the chaos the artifact causes, others believe she simply does not care, that the petty squabbles of men and mer are beyond her attention. In any case, as a Nightingale, it is incumbent upon me to recover the key."

"I always thought the tales of Nightingales were made up to keep young footpads in line." He shook his head. "My own mother told me the tales when I was a lad. You've certainly stunned me, Karliah."

"Gallus, Mercer and I swore our oaths, but Mercer… he never cared about what it meant to serve Nocturnal, only his own selfish needs. With the special powers imbued by Nocturnal _and_ the key, it will make it almost impossible for us to find him. And even if we do, he will be a formidable enemy against any man or beast."

Anger churned like acid inside Brynjolf, corroding and burning his veins. "Formidable enemy or not, Mercer needs to die, and by my hand preferably. There must be a clue to his whereabouts somewhere," Brynjolf said, his eyes shifting in thought. "Karliah, would you excuse us? I'd like to speak with Natasja alone for a moment."

"Of course. I will stand guard alongside the others, if you are receptive to the idea, Brynjolf."

"That would be fine, Karliah. I should have already welcomed you back into the fold, but technically, I should speak with Delvin and Vex first. Peacekeeping, you know," he said wearily. "I'll have Rune take a message to them."

"I understand."

Brynjolf stood and took Natasja by the elbow. She winced under the strong fingers digging into her skin as he led her to a darkened corner by the back wall.

"You've got quite a grip on me, Bryn."

"Oh, I'm sorry." He released her with an apologetic look. "My head is spinning, lass. I've known Mercer for so many years, and I never thought… ah, I should have seen this coming."

"Betrayal is so insidious, so devious. It's the worst kind of crime, especially against your own. You had no reason to believe Mercer would ever do this."

"I know. It just chaps my arse is all." He nodded slowly, his frustration a tangible thing. When he looked at Natasja, his expression saddened more, his brows narrowing at the sight of her concerned face. "And here I thought your return would be cause for celebration. We're all in grave danger now and that worries me. I'm particularly worried for you, lass. You'd better think over your involvement with the Guild carefully. This isn't what you signed on for."

"I don't care what I signed on for, Bryn." A wry, half-laugh escaped from her. "For better or for worse, I'm part of this family and I will not desert it, even if you order me to do so."

Her modest courage filled him with admiration, lifted his spirits with the faith it conveyed. "Stubborn woman. Do you know that when Mercer told me of your death, it affected me in ways I still have trouble putting into words?"

"I'm sure you were surprised… well, not nearly as surprised as I was when he stabbed me," she said, trying to lighten the mood. But she had forgotten how piercing Brynjolf's gaze could be when his emotions rose too high for his own comfort. "I couldn't bear to think of you grieving. That's why I had to send Saturnalia back here."

"I'm so sorry, lass. If I had known what he was about I would never have let you go with him."

"I know, Bryn. I thought of you every day I was gone, wondering if you mourned me or not, wondering if Saturnalia had come back here. Thank the gods I had Karliah to see me through it all. She was like a sister to me those weeks, a confessor, a mother. If I were alone, I'm not sure I would've survived."

He laughed. "That's nonsense. You are Natasja Black-Nail, esteemed member of the Thieves Guild and one of the most determined women I've ever met. You will always survive."

"Your confidence in me is overwhelming, Bryn. And I swear I will never betray you or the Guild. Never."

"You don't need to convince me of that, Natasja. But you didn't tell Karliah of your other calling, did you?" She shook her head. "No matter. She doesn't need to know yet, and it has no bearing on the matters at hand."

"I agree." Her eyes searched his, searched for the love he couldn't, or wouldn't, communicate openly. Her hand went to his cheek and ran along the hard lines that gave his face so much strength and character. And she knew the depth of his character, feeling more pride and respect than she'd felt for him before. "It is good to be home," she whispered. "With you."

"And it's good to have you home, lass." She let her hand linger on his cheek, his eyes half-lidded as he leaned into her touch. The look he gave her then was sweet, so tender and full of promise, an expression she'd seen only once before on his normally unreadable face. "We have no choice but to search for Mercer right now, so let's hold off on these thoughts running through our heads until later."

"Practicing your mind reading while I was gone?"

He shook his head. "I just know we are of a similar mind. But you and I are going to go infiltrate his house first. There _must_ be a clue there."

"He has a house here in Riften?"

"Aye, Riftweald Manor. You know, the big place next to the Temple of Mara. It was given to Mercer by the Black-Briars years ago."

"I assumed it was abandoned. I've never seen anyone come or go."

"I've only been there a few times myself, but I know it's well booby trapped. We'll have to get his watchdog Vald to give us the key somehow too."

"This Vald guy will not be willing, I imagine."

"No, he won't be, but I'm tired of pussyfooting around. You know I don't advocate killing needlessly, but if Vald won't cooperate, he'll meet the gods. Damn Mercer for putting us in this position." Natasja's expression fell, her gaze dropping to the floor. "Are you all right with that, lass?"

"Oh, yes. It's just…."

"What? You can tell me."

She tensed at the urgency of his words, a foreboding sensation chilling her to the marrow. "I have a bad feeling about this, Brynjolf. Maybe I should go to Mercer's home alone, or with someone else. Just not you. You're the acting guild master now, and you have to stay safe and direct everyone."

"Guild master? No, not I." He laughed, but not with his usual heartiness. "But after what Mercer did to you, I don't plan to let you out of my sight again."

"I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself." She wanted to be irritated by his overprotectiveness, but someplace deep inside she was also touched by the gesture. "I've been doing it for years now, but I appreciate your thoughtfulness."

He gritted his teeth at her flippant attitude. "If you had gone head-to-head with Mercer without Karliah's assistance, he would have killed you. No question. I know you're skilled, but there is always someone _more_ skilled just around the corner."

"And are you saying this as my superior or as my friend."

"I am saying this as your friend." He seized her chin and narrowed his eyes, then realized she was playing him a little bit. "And you know damn well that I am also saying this as your lover." His arrogance brought a glimmer of joy to her weary eyes, and a small smile to her chapped lips. "I intend to have a say in everything that concerns you from now on, unless you object, of course." He leaned in closer. "Do you object?"

"No. Why?" Her pulse was slightly racing now, the vibes coming from him clearly of an affectionate nature. "Do you sense that I do?"

"I'm not sure. I suspect you have a lot on your mind and even more you'd like to say. So go on, get it off your chest, lass. Tell me what's bothering you."

She let out a breath, not sure how she was going to say it. "So you read my journal, cover to cover I suppose."

"I did."

"And?"

"Why didn't you say how you truly felt about me, Natasja? Did it ever occur to you that I was the misguided one between the two of us?"

"And so what? Now you know and we have to deal with Mercer and it's not important, right?"

"You are such a pessimist, lass. Trust me, it is important, so important that we should take the time to address what we mean to each other properly and without rushing through it. I promise you, I want to clear the air as much as you do." He sighed heavily, shaking his head for some unknown reason. "Let's figure out where to hunt for Mercer first. It won't take us too long to search his house. Then afterward, we can pick up where we left off before you headed for Snow Veil."

"If that's what you want, Bryn." Natasja looked away. "I understand."

He stepped back, grinning at the flicker of disappointment on her face. "No, you don't understand. This is entirely your fault, you know."

"My fault? What did I do?"

"I can't afford to be soft right now, lass, and that's what you do to me. You weaken my defenses. You make me want to throw caution to the wind and say to Oblivion with Mercer, but I cannot do that to the Guild. I owe this to them, and to myself. I will not become like Mercer."

"You could never be like Mercer. Not in the slightest."

"You can't tell me you haven't thought of what it would be like to have the kind of power that skeleton key offers," he said in a low, deep voice that crept beneath her skin. "I know I have, except I also have an honorable streak… But Mercer had honor once, too."

"We're only human, Bryn. If we didn't want money and power, we wouldn't be standing here. And we _will_ take of our own, no matter if the rest of Riften sees us as scum." She didn't intend to put an embarrassed twist on her words, but he heard it, knowing she hated the slurs thrown at the members of the Guild, the hushed whispers calling them vermin and garbage. It was far too personal for her liking.

"Aye, but I'd like to change that… down the road a piece. Maybe have the Guild help the people of Riften in some way, taking more from the rich schemers and politicians who steal the livelihood away from the ones who make an honest living," he said with an gleam in his eye. "Ah, but those are ideas of folly for another time."

"Maven won't like that plan, but I do." A subtle vibrancy lit up her face and shone in her eyes **,** a scarcely perceptible smile curving her lips. "We can turn Riften's reputation around, Bryn. I can think of a few things to do right off the top of my head!"

"Piqued your interest, did I?" he asked. "Let's keep it between us though. I'm not sure anyone in the Guild is ready to go legit just yet."

"Right, right." She reined in her glee at the thought of doing some good for once. "We'll figure out where Mercer is first, follow him and take him down."

"But not before Karliah tells us everything we need to know in order to fight him. She needs to get that key back, so between the three of us, we should be successful."

"I hope you're right. She told me calling Mercer 'deadly' is an understatement. I honestly got the impression no one could defeat him, Bryn."

Hiding all doubts, he smiled. "Chin up, lass. One step at a time." He gave her hand a gentle tug. "Come on. You and I have a job to do, and I think we'll be an unstoppable duo."

"I'm not so sure," she murmured.

He noted the flush on her pale skin. "Then it's a good thing I have enough confidence for both of us," he said before tipping her chin up to kiss her lips softly.

For a long moment she didn't respond, her lips unmoving beneath his. Where was his passionate warrior? He deepened the kiss, testing her, letting his mouth linger over hers. Cracking an eye open, he was grateful to find no one could see them where they were standing, so he continued with another searing kiss.

When his fingers tangled in her hair, she murmured his name and surrendered, sinking her soul into this one brief moment of sheer pleasure they were allowed. The anxiety was there on the periphery of their conscious minds, but the comfort they found in each other's arms that moment helped them to forget there was a world gone mad just outside the Ratway.

"Now _that_ was inspiring," he told her with a suggestive glint in his eye.

Flicking his arm with her finger, she grumbled something he couldn't make out and turned on her heels.

"You are a wicked man, Brynjolf."

"None more wicked, lass."

Neither saw the other's smile or heard the quiet, contented sighs. There was no need for more words, no need for anything but to feel the bond they found in each other months ago still unbroken, still a source of strength as they headed into the unknown yet again.


	12. Obligations and Obstacles

"Eight-three tankards of ale on the bar, eight-three tankards of ale…."

Brynjolf continued to sing one more chorus softly. A half-smile was the only indication that he was pleased playing the role of a gnat, a well-timed commentary as Natasja nocked her fourth arrow with a deep breath. Watching her as she concentrated, her tongue pinched between her teeth and lips, Brynjolf thought about how he'd been impressed with her stealth abilities earlier.

When they had arrived at Riftweald Manor, they'd found the front door barred from the inside and had no choice but to pick the locked gate leading into the backyard. Brynjolf greeted Vald with his persuasive guile and snake-oil charm as Natasja blended into the shadows. It soon became apparent that Vald wasn't going to hand over the key to Mercer's house easily. Without a moment's hesitation, Natasja sneaked up behind the thug, and with a powerful blood-clotting agent coating a dagger, sliced the blade across his neck. Only a trickle of blood spilled onto the ground as they dragged the body and concealed it behind two barrels, but not before Natasja snatched the key to Mercer's house from Vald's pocket, and all his coin, too.

_Another ace member handpicked by me_ , Brynjolf thought with a cocky grin. "If one of those tankards should happen to fall, eighty-two tankards of ale on the bar."

A pair of piercing eyes looked at him. "Will you _please_ stop singing, Brynjolf? You might draw the attention of the guards."

"The guards are busy with a couple of our most affable thieves _pretending_ to rob the marketplace," he said, proud of his forethought. She grinned as he leaned a little closer until his face was almost pressed to hers. "Don't you like the sound of my voice?"

She stared at him as if she found his question absurd _._ "Brynjolf," she whispered, "your voice sets my heart ablaze." The softness in her gaze and the little smile playing on her lips belied the edge in her tone, and her eyes darkened further. "But you're distracting me right now, so shut it."

"Yes, ma'am," he said, with a slight smile of his own.

The moonlight filtered in through the overhead branches, casting a glow of alabaster across her face, shadows dancing around them in time with the slight breeze stirring. The fire in her eyes and her stubborn nature combined with her innocent sensuality, and he found himself affected by her presence beyond reason. She was so unlike the waifish and coy women he'd had encounters with in the past. Although she was no sophisticated beauty, she compelled attention. There was strength in her firm mouth and high cheekbones, and perfection and elegance in her sword handling. _Her thieving skills are reasonably good too_ , he thought. His heartbeat skipped unbidden. If the circumstances weren't so desperate, he would have dragged her straight to the Bee and Barb and rented a room. Silently, he cursed Mercer Frey to Oblivion, and pondered the many ways he would inflict pain and suffering on the traitorous bastard if they found him. No, _when_ they found him.

Holding the bow firmly with both eyes open, Natasja focused on the arrow in the target, took a deep breath, and slowly drew back, just as she had practiced every day with Karliah. She let the arrow fly, but it went slightly wide, missing the mark. Cursing furiously, she stomped the ground with one foot and breathed deeply before nocking another arrow. The fierce determination on her face took from it any softness or vulnerability.

Brynjolf's nerves were already on edge as clouds began to gather quickly — unforeseen omens, no doubt. It was difficult to determine the exact place for her to aim at the ramp above, and when she missed the target again, he was convinced it was another piece of evidence that their luck was influenced by Nocturnal, as Karliah had said. Frustrated with his unease and her poor marksmanship, he tried to resist the urge to criticize her, but failed miserably. "My hair is turning gray here, lass. Hit the damn mechanism before I drop dead like an old soldier."

"Does it look like I'm not trying?"

"What it looks like is that you've boasted too quickly about your archery skills."

She disregarded his comment for only a fleeting moment. With a voice as cold and sharp as steel, she shoved the bow into his hands. "Fine. You're such a damn good archer, _you_ do it."

"You've turned quite cranky this last hour, lass. What's gotten into you?"

"Nothing has gotten into me," she said with all the petulance of a spoiled child, then gave him a cutting look. "I'm annoyed, and my back aches a bit. And my stomach is… well, it's just girl stuff. I'm sure you don't want to hear the details."

"Ah, so that's how it is." A disappointed grimace flashed across his face. "Puts a bit of a damper on the evening's activities, doesn't it?"

"Not necessarily." Her eyes narrowed just a little. "But if anything will put a damper on the evening's activities, it'll be your compulsive need to direct my every move." She punched his arm with a tightly clenched fist, making him jump with surprise.

He grinned, then frowned a little and rubbed his arm. "You pack a punch."

"I pulled it back. You're just a big baby." She smiled then, looking at the back of her hand as if she'd injured her knuckles on his rock-solid arm.

"You're more changeable than the wind, lass. One second you're as ornery as hungry mammoth, and the next, as giddy as Delvin after a night of wine and women."

"I'm warning you, Bryn, don't make fun of me anymore."

"Don't poke the bear, eh?" He thought his smile would have a calming effect on her, but the added cheek in the rich timbre of his laugh proved to be too much.

" _Stop_ laughing at me," she warned. "It's insulting, not to mention rude."

He stopped and gazed at her instead. "You just need a couple tankards of Black-Briar Reserve to cure what ails you."

She rolled her shoulders and cracked a smile. "My stamina is just fine in case you're worried that I won't be able to perform my duties," she paused to eye him mischievously, "as your body guard."

"Body guard?" he scoffed. "Surely you meant serving wench, or perhaps courtesan." That earned him a slap on the shoulder and a heated glare. "I'm kidding, Natasja. You know I think quite the opposite."

"Just shoot the arrow already. Although I suspect you're all talk, and that's why you're stalling."

Unamused by her belittling tone **,** he swallowed a grand elixir of keenshot and it pulsed through him instantly. Absolute disbelief cut off any response from her as he swiftly aimed and let the arrow fly. It flashed through the air and hit the target, bringing down the ramp.

"And that's how it's done, lass." The roguish look on his face must have caused her chuckle, her anger gone, for now. _I'll pay for that, I'm sure_.

"That's cheating, you dog. And why didn't you give it to me in the first place?"

"Because it was more fun to watch you get all hot and bothered."

"Bothered is right. Bothered I can't put you in your place right now." Her voice was frosty, but he sensed the excitement building in her, excitement for the infiltration as well as the time they would spend together later, if what little luck they had left held out. Then her expression fell. "Karliah would have been disappointed with my failure to hit the target." She shrugged, an empty smile crossing her lips.

"Even Karliah would've had a hard time with that shot. Don't be so hard on yourself."

"Hard on myself? That," she said wryly, "is most definitely the pot calling the kettle black. You know damn well it's a matter of survival." A sound akin to a growl left her before she sprinted up the ramp to the balcony with Brynjolf close behind.

He grabbed her hand as she moved to unlock the door. "There will be at least eight armed and extremely dangerous mercenary types in there. Do not act recklessly, Natasja."

"Yeah, yeah. Take the lead if you're so worried I'll muck it up."

"I _will_ take the lead, but not because I think you'll muck it up," he said, concern for her safety now knotting his stomach. "Stay close and don't be distracted by the loot. After we take care of Mercer's lackeys, _and_ find his plans, we'll pilfer what we can."

The responsibility he felt for her was impossible to repress, and he was relieved she didn't push him then. The proud male in him grunted; the fierce, protective rogue was back in action, ready to defend his protégé against every threat. Except she was more than a protégé now.

Upon entering Mercer's home, the first two thugs were at the ready, alarmed by the loud sound of the ramp dropping. Even so, Natasja and Brynjolf dispatched them with ease. As they stalked the hallways in silence, they used hand signals to indicate the presence of other mercenaries. The two of them fought like maniacs, their blades flashing in a whirlwind of steel as blood splatter covered the walls and floors. When the last thug went down, Natasja motioned to Brynjolf when she spotted a wardrobe at the back of a room looking somehow out of place. When she opened it, she saw a false back panel that opened into another room with stairs leading into a series of tunnels. Cautiously, they listened for voices but heard none.

"Mercer had more than enough mercenaries on his payroll. I'm almost afraid of what we'll find down here," she whispered, passing the barred cells in what appeared to be a dungeon. "Why would he need these cells?"

"No idea. Maybe these were always here, but that begs the question as to why the Blackbriars would need them. Although I have a fair idea why." When he saw her inquisitive expression, he decided against voicing his darker thoughts. "Best not to think on that, lass."

Rounding a corner, she pointed ahead. "Watch out for those pressure plates there, Bryn."

"My eyes haven't failed me yet."

Her gaze went soft. "You know I don't think you're too old, right? Not in actual years anyway. It's more your experiences," she said with a glimmer of innocence in her eyes, a look of vulnerability that always brought any irritation he felt down a notch. "I mean, you're more… mature than someone my age."

He knew what she meant, but it didn't quiet the voice in his head telling him that he was too old for her. "Quit while you're ahead, okay?" Ignoring her steady gaze, he moved forward, stepping over or around each pressure plate.

She followed until they came around a corner where she spied a chest. Before he could stop her, she headed straight for it just as he heard the ticking sound of poison darts shooting out from the ceiling. She rolled away before any came near her, but that only served to exasperate him more.

"Damn it, Natasja! Must you be so impulsive?" he asked as she looked inside the chest.

"Not even worth my efforts! Just a few gold pieces."

"Serves you right for risking the mission."

"The mission is going just fine, thank you very much." She frowned, then moved to lead the way, but he grabbed her arm as he placed a finger over his lips.

He waited, but there was only silence. When his breathing had calmed, he listened and heard someone else's breath. A lone man leapt out from behind a corner, dressed in shabby armor, two daggers whirling in his hands as he came at them with lightning speed. Natasja lunged forward and stabbed him in the upper chest with a small throwing knife, and then punched him squarely on the jaw. As he fell to the ground, Brynjolf looked at her, judgment in his gaze.

"What?" She picked up the man's knives and examined them, then tossed them down a sewer hole. "He reminded me of someone."

He gave her another searching look, but knowing of her past, he just nodded, smiling a little in return and leaving his questions for another time.

"Onward," she said, taking the lead once again. "It's getting late."

Brynjolf gritted his teeth to keep from yelling, but wasn't entirely successful. " _You_ follow _me_ , and keep an eye out. There may be someone else down here, too." She complied, but snickered in a way that Brynjolf found maddening.

As they continued down the hallway, they reached another antechamber, unknowingly triggering swinging pendulum blades and battering rams.

Brynjolf stopped short to assess the situation. "I don't see any mechanism to stop the blades, and I'm sure the switch is on the other side. But if we're careful, we can tip-toe between them."

"Really? I hadn't thought of that." Even though she rolled her eyes spectacularly, she couldn't prevent the smile that hurried to her lips. "You're quite the mastermind, Bryn." With that, Natasja weaved between each pendulum with nary a pause, letting her instincts guide her. She moved left, dodged right, and then slipped just under a deadly blade, giving Brynjolf a fantastic show as she evaded each one.

"Your damn arrogance is going to get you killed, woman!"

"And worrying will put you in an early grave!"

"It's not worry that's going to put me in an early grave," he muttered.

Turning back to look at him, she laughed as she flipped the switch that stopped the blades from swinging. "I can see a heavy wooden door, and I bet it leads to his office."

A certain brazen look on her face, which had probably carried her through many perilous situations, would have been lost to a less experienced man. She was far too cocky for his liking at that moment, and not very observant, and he was determined to put an end to such behavior. Brynjolf shook his head. She even seemed to be basking in some kind of a sadistic joy, knowing many of his talents exceeded hers, but still thinking she could outfox him. For all her wily charms, Natasja knew little about the true nature of men.

"Come on, Bryn!"

"I'm coming, lass!" Then again, he wasn't sure about the true nature of women either. "I'm coming."

They reached the door, and Brynjolf eyed the lock. "That's a tough one to pick, one of the toughest. Step aside, lass. I'll do it."

"You know I've been studying with Vipir in the training room, and those chests are almost impossible to pick, yet I've picked three of them already. I bet I can pick this one."

He eyed her intently, if not a little confused. How could she even think she'd be able pick _this_ lock? "I'll give you two chances. If you succeed, you can choose your boon. Anything you ask of me will be yours, if it is within my power to do so."

"Anything?" she said with a hint of teasing in her voice.

"I know what you're implying, but my word is true. I'll do anything, or give you anything you ask."

She looked him, arching a brow. "And if I lose?"

"If you lose, as you most certainly will," he paused, relishing the moment, "you will be my serving wench for a day. After Mercer is dead, of course."

"Of course."

Trapped by the challenging look in her eyes, he placed two lock picks into her hands. She closed her fingers around them, and his hand lingered on hers, an errant fingertip tracing her palm. He noted the rapid dilation of her pupils, and the intake of a sharp breath. _Perfect_.

"Stand back and prepare to lose, thief." The first pick snapped before her fourth breath, and he smiled to himself, but he saw no real anxiety in her demeanor, only confidence. The second pick slid into the lock but was handled more delicately, with great precision, turning a hair to the left, and then the right. The tumblers reacted, and she concentrated on every tick, every jingle, turning slightly… a little more… just another click… and… _Snap!_ "Talos be damned," she mumbled. It was over.

"Don't let it bruise your ego, lass. Vipir will still be proud." Pursed lips and a powerful exhale were all he got in return as he moved in, cracking his knuckles with a shameless grin.

First he slowed his mind, clearing all other images and thoughts until he could clearly see the inside of the lock. A few seconds later a metallic clink sounded, followed by the rotating tumblers and then a click as the door swung open under his hand.

She looked at him, not wide-eyed, but resentful. Or perhaps envious. "Tell me what you're thinking," she demanded.

"Nothing, lass. Nothing at all," he said facetiously. Anxious to search the room, he swept out his arm, directing her to go in first. "After you, lass." _Gods, I'll be paying for so many things later._ He positioned the door halfway closed and followed her.

Fortunately, she ignored his cavalier attitude and slight chuckle, racing to the desk and yanking open the top drawer, where she spied a book, well read, and rather tattered. "The Lusty Argonian Maid? I never took Mercer for the kind of man who read this trashy stuff."

"But you've read it, haven't you?" he asked as his eyes searched the room.

"Well, haven't you? It's a classic!"

"Yes, I suppose it is." The desk and bookshelves yielded nothing but a few gemstones and a bust of the Gray Fox, a sculpture Delvin would be particularly interested in. Distracted by what little he saw in the way of plans, he walked over to another door and pushed it open. Inside was a small storage area, and upon further inspection, an ornate chest rested toward the back wall. "I'll be in here."

"Oh, Bryn, there's a glass sword in this case. It must be worth a fortune! I _will_ pick this lock, damn it."

"You work on that while I break into this chest," he said, and disappeared as she set to picking the display case.

He laughed to himself when he heard Natasja's frustrated mumblings in the other room. _Vipir's good, but I had better give her some personal training_. Brynjolf picked the lock easily enough, and when he opened the chest, his eyes grew wide. Not only were the plans and maps Mercer had stolen from the Guild inside, but there were also priceless ancient coins, and the most expensive of poisons and elixirs.

He sorted through the maps, and at the bottom of the pile, he found what he believed to be Mercer's plans. "The Eyes of the Falmer?" he whispered. Just then, he heard the muffled footfalls of someone approaching, and it wasn't Natasja. _Blast!_ He dropped the stack back into the chest and ran to the other room. _Shit, this guy again!_ Natasja was rising from a kneeling position and reaching for her sword, but the wounded mercenary was coming at her with a vase in his hands. "Behind you, love!"

Her head snapped in Brynjolf's direction as the thug moved lifted his arms over his head.

"Move!" Too late. The large vase in the mercenary's hands crashed into the side of her head, shattering to pieces as she dropped to the floor, stunned. With all his energy focused on the one fatal throw, Brynjolf's dagger pierced the mercenary's throat before the poor fool had a chance to take another breathe. The gurgling sounds as he clutched his throat in death ended when Brynjolf reached Natasja.

"Damn it, woman, why can't you _ever_ do as I say," he said, forceful in his anxiety. "Natasja, can you hear me?" He knelt beside her and cradled her in his arms. The cut on her head wasn't deep, and he could see no other cause for alarm in regards to her health. To be on the safe side, he let a small amount of health potion pass her lips as he held her head. Her eyes slowly opened, and she blinked at him. In a remarkably short time, his worry for her safety had worked its way to anger. _Gods, I could throttle her for being so distracted_. "Say something, lass."

"You called me 'love'."

Brynjolf was not a man who blushed easily, or often, but a hint of embarrassment tinged his complexion. He stared at her, his thoughts changing straight to self-consciousness, while maintaining a touch of rage just to keep him grounded. "You're delirious from the blow to your head, lass."

"And you're delirious if you think my hearing is that bad."

He helped her to stand as blood trickled down her cheek from the gash on the side of her head, her hair slightly matted with more blood. She eyed Brynjolf's handiwork. "Nice throw. But you could have been a little quicker," she said with a sigh as she dusted the dirt from her leathers.

"My apologies, _ingrate_. I only saved your life."

"He didn't even have a blade on him," she said softly, her voice tinged with scorn as she pressed her fingertips to her temples and shook her head. "My ears are ringing a bit."

Brynjolf frowned, wondering why he bothered sometimes. "Are you all right?"

She nodded. When she looked him, she closed the distance between them, throwing her arms around his shoulders to hug him tightly, appreciation for his expertise now clear. "I'm sorry, Bryn. I didn't mean to sound ungrateful." She placed a gentle kiss on his lips. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." With a squeeze for her waist, he forgave her hasty words as quickly as she had said them. "So, guess what I've discovered? Mercer is going after the Eyes of the Falmer."

"The what?"

"The snow elves, lass, before their bodies were twisted by darkness and Dwemer slavery."

"I know who the Falmer _are_ , but what do their eyes have to do with it?"

"The eyes I'm talking about are precious gems in the eye sockets of a massive statue, which according to Mercer's map, is in Irkngthand. Nobody thought the gems existed, but Gallus never gave up the search, so I can only assume Mercer had been following Gallus' leads all these years. If Mercer gets his hands on them, he'll be set up for life. Then we'll never find him."

"Karliah will want to go after him immediately. I suppose we'll have to leave at first light."

"Aye. We'd best get back and tell her. There's a passage to the Ratway Vaults in the other room." He brushed the stray hair from her eyes and smiled warmly. "We'll still have a few pints tonight though. All right?"

"Sure, Bryn." She dropped her gaze and sighed, but not before he saw the disappointment in her eyes.

* * *

Upon their return to the Cistern, they learned Karliah was on watch at the cemetery, due to be back within the half hour. With not alarming news since he'd been gone, Brynjolf took the opportunity to round up some food and ale, coercing a hesitant Natasja back to his room with the tantalizing tidbits. Their long-awaited conversation was at the forefront of his mind.

He had developed feelings for her, strong, deep feelings as well as a very potent physical attraction. For all he knew, chasing Mercer might lead to his death, and hers too. He'd be damned if he left the mortal world without telling her how he felt. As they walked the short distance to his room, his mind hummed with the things he wanted to say.

They sat down next to each other on his bed, unnatural tenseness radiating from both of them. After a long pull from his mug, he turned to her as she nibbled on some bread.

"Well, lass, I think this is as good a time as any to clear the air."

"All right. What would like to tell me about what you read in my journal?"

"Straight to the point, then, eh?"

"Yes." She stood up and retrieved her journal from his strong-box. "Should I burn it now?"

"No. No!" She seemed a little flushed, and she fussed with a buckle on her armor as she sat down, avoiding his gaze. Never had he felt such a desperate need to reach out to another person and it was all the more painful for being denied. He chalked it up to fear, but he would ease her fear as best he could – if she'd only let him. "Go to the last page and read your last entry aloud."

"Come on, Bryn. Why would torture me so?"

"Just do it. It will not torture you, I promise." He laid his hand on her shoulder, and slowly, it travelled down to rest on the small of her back. "Please." He donned his most unguarded expression, one he thought she'd recall from another memorable night.

When she began flipping to the page, he knew she understood. He watched her eyes fall to the words. And then she began to read. "I shouldn't leave without saying goodbye to him, but he doesn't love me," she said flatly, then snapped her head up. "Come on, Bryn. I don't want to read this!"

"Then if you won't, I will."

"Damn stubborn man. Fine." She took a deep breath and willed herself to read, albeit as monotone as she did before. "I'm just a body to him, just a plaything to idle away the hours, and if I stay here, I'll be reminded of that all the time. Maybe I'm destined to be alone." She looked up at him, the fear in her eyes mingled strangely with something like defiance. "And so? What is your point?"

"Now turn the page over and read my entry."

"You… you wrote in here? But why?"

"Just read the bloody words, woman!" He almost came undone at the desperation in her eyes, desperation directed at him. Even so, she swallowed hard and straightened her shoulders, taking another deep breath to steady her voice as she read his message to her.

"No, you shouldn't have left without saying goodbye, but I'll not hold that against you. And you are not just a plaything. And no one is destined to be alone, not even you. So it seems you've been wrong a time or two, Natasja. I will rub that in your face eventually, but for now, you have two choices. You can ask me any question you like, or say the words I want to hear from your lips only. The choice is yours."

"Go ahead," he said, "ask a question, or make a statement."

"Why are you doing this?"

"Because you need to say some things and I need to hear them. So go on," he said, knowing a question that would put him on the spot would most likely be her choice.

"Did you… shed a tear for me when you thought I was dead?"

"Many, in fact. To think I would never feel your touch again, your lips against mine, or hear your laughter, or never see you lose your head over a harmless cricket… I felt overwhelming loss."

"You did?"

"I did. But that is another question. Tell me, Natasja, tell me you want me, tell me you want _us_."

"Brynjolf, you know I want you," she said in a low voice. "I want you so much it scares me."

"Why?"

"I don't know, maybe because I want you _too_ much."

"On that point, we can agree." But he needed to hear it precisely, needed to know he wasn't dreaming, that he wasn't misinterpreting her. "Tell me you regret the games we've played, lass, tell me you want to be mine. I cannot, and _will not_ , lose you again."

As she stared at him struggling to speak, emotions raw and exciting built inside him like a gathering storm until he thought he would explode with it and lose everything. His heart overrode the pride and fear and any other façade he would have been tempted to maintain. "I want you, lass, only you. And gods help me, I do-"

"Brynjolf! Where is Mercer?" shouted the voice banging on his door. "Let me in. It's Karliah!"


	13. Loyalty and Love

"Brynjolf!" Karliah shouted, much louder than Natasja thought she could raise her lilting voice.

"Gods, her timing couldn't be worse." Brynjolf looked at Natasja, restlessness mixed with anger on his face. He stood up, taking her hand in his firmly. "We'll finish this conversation after we tell her everything."

Natasja eyed her empty tankard, keeping the scathing commentary rising in her throat at bay. "I could use another drink anyway," she said before yanking her hand away from his grasp. His eyes narrowed for a brief moment, and she looked away, the sting of disappointment churning her stomach.

Karliah burst into the room as Brynjolf opened the door, a little whirlwind of energy rushing past him. "Did you find Mercer's plans? Tell me you did."

"Aye." Snatching the map off a table, he flipped it open and handed it to Karliah.

Her mouth opened slowly, then closed, her face turning ghostly white. "This was Gallus's dream." Still staring at the map, she remained silent, keeping her mouth firmly shut for a long moment. "We should head to Irkngthand as soon as possible, before our luck runs out completely, but," she paused, her eyes filled with unease, "we must meet him on equal footing. As a Nightingale, his powers are more or less equal to mine, but with Nocturnal's Key in his possession, he may be invincible. There is no way of knowing exactly how he's been influenced, but I promise you, he's used the Key to its fullest advantage."

"So we take along others to help," Natasja said, as if it were the logical option.

"No," Karliah said sharply. "We cannot risk losing any members of the Guild, and mercenaries will only spread talk of the Nightingales' existence. We three need to handle this on our own."

"Who cares if Nocturnal's existence is known?" Natasja said. "Whatever it takes to help us finish off Mercer."

"We cannot toy with Nocturnal. She will be… most unpleasant if we do."

While Natasja mumbled expletives, Brynjolf crossed his arms over his chest, clutching his upper arms tightly. "You have a plan, Karliah?"

"I do." Karliah eyed them both, knowing her impending appeal would be questioned, if not scorned. "I want you both to come with me to Nightingale Hall. It's just south of Riften, by the Shadow Stone. You know where it is, right, Brynjolf?"

"I do, but what is there in Nightingale Hall that will help us? Enchanted weapons and armor? Because if that's all you've got, things aren't looking any brighter to me." With the size of his room only affording him a few steps in each direction, he paced the floor and fought against the exasperation he didn't want to feel.

"You want Mercer dead, and I need to return the Key to Nocturnal. The only way to do both is for you and Natasja to become Nightingales. Nocturnal _must_ be at our backs if we are to defeat Mercer."

"Oh no," Natasja countered, waving her hands in front of her. "Absolutely not. I will not be obligated to any Daedric prince. I'm sorry, Karliah, but that is out of the question."

A niggling voice in the back of Brynjolf's mind told him Karliah was correct in her assessment of Mercer as well as the need for more backup from Nocturnal. Being a plaything for the Daedra held no interest for Brynjolf either, but he was willing to hear Karliah out, even as sourness rose in his gut while he stared at Natasja's defiant expression. "Lass, don't be so quick to dismiss Karliah's plan. You've seen how our luck has changed for the worse lately."

"Natasja, you must listen to reason," Karliah implored as Natasja's head shook vehemently. "You _cannot_ survive a fight with Mercer otherwise."

"Lass, just hear her out," he pressed. "Why are you so against this without hearing the facts?"

With both of them harping on her, all she craved was peace, silence, and solitude, the life she had before arriving in Riften, that lonely, desolate life she led before Brynjolf and the Guild influenced her daily actions and emotions. _Brynjolf, why are you doing this to me?_ She didn't want to make explanations because she had no explanations herself, only repressed, half-formed fears. "I know how this will go, Bryn. I refuse to deal with the Daedra. You have no idea what they are all about, the control they seek."

"You say that as if you've had some experiences with Daedra before," Karliah said.

Natasja quirked her lips and ignored her. In truth, she'd had no run-ins with Daedra, but it was a convenient excuse for not wanting to become a Nightingale. The crazy idea warred with her sanity, and she wasn't sure why. She and Brynjolf already handled their weapons with dexterity and fierceness, with inspired accuracy, unerring every time. But Brynjolf was bound to possess an even more arrogant sureness after he was imbued with Nocturnal's powers, arrogance that would make him take more risks, deadly risks. The thought sent shivers down her spine.

She looked at his face, tense with concern, but he dropped his eyes and said nothing. Then she waited uneasily, not knowing what to say or do next.

"Is it true, Karliah?" Brynjolf asked. "Are they nothing but controlling demons of darkness? That's what the tales I've heard make most of them out to be."

"Now you sound like an old fish wife, Bryn. Nocturnal is more like a scolding mother who pushes her child to do better."

"One scolding mother was enough for me," Brynjolf said. "You're asking a lot here, lass."

"You don't know the half of it," Natasja scoffed.

"Not all Daedra are malevolent," Karliah asserted. "Some are here to help, to give us strength when all is hopeless. Nocturnal is one such prince. Her unknowable nature is the essence of her being, but it serves no real ulterior purposes beyond being mysterious."

"I deal with danger in a straightforward manner, lass, not secrecy. I'm not too keen on this idea. " He took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. "What does becoming a Nightingale entail? If it's only some aid in the form of Nocturnal's powers, that's fine. But I'm sure she'll want something in return."

"If she will accept you both as one of her own, in return, you must serve her in life, and in death, as a guardian of the Twilight Sepulcher."

"Ah, there's the catch," Brynjolf muttered.

Natasja's mind raced. Surely she and Karliah could handle Mercer without Brynjolf if she agreed to become a Nightingale. A ridiculous plan to knock him out and send him off on a cart bound for Markham flitted through her head. But the idea crashed in a fiery explosion and gave way to an encroaching headache. Brynjolf would never forgive her, of course, but the real reason for her ambivalence lay in her heart; she could never take the satisfaction and retribution of killing Mercer away from the man she loved, and yet she feared for his life should he become a Nightingale. It was irrational and confusing, and she hated to think of the excessive confidence Brynjolf would have afterward. Only one thing was certain—swearing allegiance to Nocturnal would change everything. And she hated change.

"We need to hurry if we are to stop Mercer. Will you both agree to become Nightingales?"

Natasja's anguish channeled to her hands, clenching them once before slashing one through the air. "I said no and I meant it, Karliah. I'll fight Mercer with the skills that have kept me alive this long, Nocturnal be damned. Right, Bryn?"

"That would be suicide," Karliah shot back before he could respond, something akin to relief crossing his features. "As it is, we're very likely to fail even if we all fight Mercer as Nightingales. Nocturnal's backing is no guarantee for our safety, but it will give us a reasonable edge."

"Just an _edge_? That's all we get for pledging ourselves to Nocturnal?" Natasja met her gaze with a hard stare, mulling over every word Karliah had said since entering the room, remembering every guarded emotion that ghosted across her face. _Gods…._ "This is far more dangerous than you're letting on. You're not confident we'll all make it out alive, are you?"

"This fight will be unlike any you've experienced, Natasja. Irkngthand is an ancient ruin, full of Falmer and other deadly creatures, traps and toxins." Tired of Natasja's flip remarks, Karliah moved to stand toe to toe with her. "If we get past all that and reach Mercer without any injuries, it will be surprising. If we take him down without one of us dying in the process, it will be a miracle. Does that answer your question?"

Natasja struggled to calm herself as panic seized her lungs. "There must be another way then. We should bring an army if that's what it takes."

"Nocturnal will not _allow it_. Aren't you listening to me? If we let outsiders join us, she will turn her back on the entire matter and find another way to get the Key."

"Oh, so what was once a meddling mother is actually a vain and merciless Daedra, as I suspected. I will not be a party to her particular brand of help, thank you very much."

Karliah's voice choked with emotion as she made her last plea. "Natasja, listen to me. Nocturnal is responsible for the successes _and_ the failures of this Guild. Your childish ignorance and foolish pride may cause the Thieves Guild to fall to ruin. I _know_ you understand what's at stake here, but I cannot comprehend why you are being so stubborn." Karliah leaned in, her mouth next to Natasja's ear. "If not for me or the Guild, do it for him. Don't abandon him, or you will regret it forever."

Natasja shuddered. Intimating that she was abandoning Brynjolf as Karliah thought she had abandoned Gallus was a cheap trick, but one she felt compelled to use. The only thing keeping Karliah's temper in check now was knowing Brynjolf had some influence over his lover. Hopefully, he would make her see reason.

"Are you prepared to take the oath, Brynjolf?"

"I don't see how I have any other choice here."

Natasja's heart hit the floor. The odds of her being able to change his mind were now slim to none, but she had to try one last time before accepting Karliah's plan.

"Good. And you, Natasja? Is there anything more I can say to change your mind?"

Natasja shook her head, unable to utter a word. She sighed when Karliah's eyes dimmed, as though a light faded in her soul. "I am sorry, Karliah," she whispered.

"I'm not the one who should be on the receiving end of your apologies." She cast her gaze upon Brynjolf, sorrow running deep in her violet eyes. "Brynjolf, please try to talk some sense into her. I'll be waiting for you outside."

The door closed quietly, leaving Natasja to feel like an admonished child. "Don't even try to make me change my mi-" Her insistence was cut off by a heated kiss, his arms squeezing her so tightly she could barely draw a breath. The kiss was lingering, pensive, as if he were leaving for good, for the infinite beyond.

"You are free to refuse Karliah's offer, but I will not allow you to go to Irkngthand without becoming a Nightingale."

"You won't 'allow' me? Since when do you have the right to allow me anything?"

He smiled tightly, tamping down the need to show her, rather than tell her, exactly what gave him that right. "Now, lass, don't take me the wrong way, but I think it's best you stay here, where you're needed."

"What? I pledged my loyalty to this damn Guild, swearing to help you find Mercer and kill him, and now you want me to stay here? You must be crazy!"

"As Nightingales, Karliah and I can handle whatever Mercer dishes out."

"You're not funny, Bryn." She eyed him with growing impatience, not fooled by his directive, and at the same time, thrilled by his protectiveness. "I'll follow you no matter what you tell me to do."

"Please, do not go against me in this, Natasja. Do _not_ force my hand."

"Or what? Would lock me in the vault?" she asked with a faint snicker.

"You will do as I order, or you're out. Simple as that."

Shock registered on her face. _He can't mean that._ "You'd kick me out of the Guild?" she said in a quiet voice, her expression like that of a child about to cry. "I don't believe you."

"Believe me." His voice now carried all the suppressed emotion and tension of the last hour. "I'd knock you out, tie you up, and send you packing on your horse to Whiterun. Back to the Companions."

"Back into the open arms of the Companions? Now I know you're joking."

"Not really." He pushed his hands down into his pockets, his body stiff and unrelenting. She understood what he meant, understood his priorities, but that only served to anger her more.

"So, that's it then. There's no real freedom in this Guild, is there? At least not for me."

"There's no real freedom _anywhere_ , lass."

"That's not true! I've had freedom before, on my own out there!" she shouted, pointing her finger toward the exit. "I've tasted it, Brynjolf, and I know it exists. You do too."

"And that's all beside the point. Mercer was dangerous before he had that key. You of all people know this. There is no way you would survive without the Nightingale powers."

"I know what you're trying to do here, but I don't need an overbearing father figure hiding me for safe keeping in a closet!"

"Knowing is not the same as understanding, lass. Just once, can't you step back and see how your stubbornness is complicating things?" Her face had reddened and her breathing labored. Gods, it was hard to speak to her this way. "Look, let's discuss this rationally before more things are said that can't be taken back."

"There is nothing rational about any of this!"

"This alliance with Nocturnal is just a contract. It's business to me, and that's the only reason I'm amenable to it. One hand is washing the other. The Guild is my primary concern. I won't let it fall, lass. I can't."

"I know that." She dropped her head and began to bang her fist gently against her forehead. "All right. Plead your case, Bryn. I'll do my best to try to _understand_."

He stood in front of her, taking both of her hands in his. "I've no doubt about your skills or mine on any given day, but this is different. Mercer is a dark and powerful man now, almost supernatural if what Karliah says is true. And I think it is. Why are you so reluctant? Is it truly because you don't want to serve Nocturnal or is it because…?" He closed his eyes for a moment, knowing his next words would hurt her deeply if he wasn't careful. "You always find a way to win. Whether it's at cards or fighting, you always find a way to stack the odds in your favor. Why not this time? Are you afraid of something beyond Nocturnal's oath?"

"Funny that you would paint _me_ as the opportunist, in your own roundabout way," she said, pulling away from him. "I don't _fear_ failure, Bryn. I detest it. And the reason I hate it so much is that with every failure, someone gets hurt."

"I, for one, plan to keep my feet firmly planted on the ground, and not buried in it."

"Confidence will get you through a fight, Bryn, but arrogance will get you killed. If you go at Mercer as a Nightingale, thinking you're equals, you'll be reckless. Can't you see, Bryn? Can't you see what a mistake this will be?"

"I don't agree. And neither am I reckless nor do I ever underestimate the enemy," he said defensively. Few people had ever wounded his pride in the past, but those who did, those who were brave enough to challenge him, were the ones he cared about the most. "Please, Natasja, just consider it. I would never ask this of you if I didn't believe it to be the only way. I'm thinking of your safety, just as you are considering mine."

"If there was some guarantee that striking an oath with Nocturnal would help us defeat Mercer _and_ save the Guild, I'd do it in an instant."

"Sometimes you just have to go with your gut instinct. Mine is telling me is we need to do this, and I'm rarely wrong."

She drew in a sharp breath and blew out. "I just have a dreadful feeling and I can't shake it."

"Then explain what you're feeling. Maybe I can reason it out for you."

"There is no explanation for this kind of apprehension. It's almost like a premonition, but I can't quite grasp it. I just know it's something… evil and dangerous."

"Maybe Mercer has influenced you somehow," he offered, staring past her in thought for a moment. "But I can't base my decision on your superstitions, lass. The entire Guild is at stake. I shudder to think of what would happen to them if I failed."

"They'd just find another guild to belong to, another wretched town to rob blind."

"You say that as if you don't care about them. Or me."

"How can you say that? This is the only family I've known since I was a child. Of course I want the best for everyone. For you especially." A sweat broke on her brow as he distanced himself from her, and her emotions bubbled to the surface without hindrance. "Damn it, Bryn, why can't you understand?"

"Understand what? You're not making much sense. Speak plainly for once," he snapped, then frowned when she winced. "Please, lass, tell me. Help me to understand," he said with a lower tone and a sympathetic gaze.

How could she talk about something she couldn't even think about without deep emotion? She was tempted to accuse him of feigned concern, but that would only make her look like a spoiled and selfish young girl, the same distrustful and coolly detached girl who walked into Riften all those months ago. She'd changed since then, matured and flourished under his watchful eyes. Brynjolf was a devoted mentor, a trusted friend, and the man she adored. She owed him an explanation.

"All right. Here it is," she said, throwing back her shoulders. "I realize Karliah's concerns are very valid, and I know if we were to become Nightingales it would benefit us greatly. But you're right, I am afraid. For you. I haven't been this worried for someone else's life in a long time, and I can't… Bryn, if you died…." A sob caught in her throat, and she pushed it back. "It terrifies me to think of what I'd do without you." The confession was too overwhelming in its intensity, and she spun around, burying her face in hands.

"Meeting the gods is not something I plan to do today, tomorrow, or any time soon. Have a little faith, Natasja." When he took her by the arm and turned her around, he recognized a raw fear he hadn't seen since they first met. He gathered her into his arms until the trembling stopped and the tears subsided. "I am not going to die, lass, and neither are you."

A small laugh escaped her even though dread still coursed through her veins. "Despite all your other talents, you can't read the future. Or was I misinformed?"

"You were misinformed." His heart pounded against his chest, a potent urgency emanating from him. Holding her face in his hands, he kissed her as if he might never have the chance again, as if he'd die without her, touching her as if she was the most precious thing in all of Tamriel. "We _will_ make it out, lass. You and I will survive this. The gods aren't so cruel to let me spend the rest of my days alone. They won't take me away from the woman I love."

She could hardly believe what she'd heard, but her ears certainly weren't deceiving her. Nor were her lips, for they were now covered with his, insistent but gentle, encouraging. And behind it all she could taste his hunger—hunger for her.

"Do you love me, Natasja? Answer me honestly, because I know now that I love you. Do you?" She nodded. "Answer me then. Say it… Please."

She felt his words caress her as he brushed his lips against hers again. She gazed into his eyes and heard herself speaking softly, as if she were floating, like a drifting snowflake caught in an updraft before finding a perfect landing. "I love you."

With an admiring smile, he put his arms around her and held her. "I know you do." But their embrace ended as suddenly as it had begun when Brynjolf broke away. He reached for the door before giving her a tender look. "I wish we had more time so I could make love to you the way I've imagined since your return, but we should tell Karliah we're ready now." A faint hint of desperation edged in his voice.

She didn't have the heart to give voice to her petty doubts again. Leaning forward, she brushed a gentle kiss across his frowning mouth. "I believe we'll make it, Brynjolf. You've convinced me."

"I swear when this is over, we'll get a room at the Bee and Barb with all we need to survive for a day." She nodded to him as they held hands. Reassured, he visibly relaxed, motioning for her to go out the door first.

"Bryn, can I have a few minutes alone to think? Just… let me have a little time to absorb this all and then clear my head."

"Of course. I'll speak with Karliah and start preparations." He laid his palm on her cheek and rubbed his thumb over her bottom lip. "Don't take too long, love."

She smiled as bright as a sunrise, his endearment sending a wave of warmth to her heart. "I won't." When he turned to go, he gave her a saucy wink, and then he was gone. She was left staring at the solid wood between them, and trying to control the way her knees threatened to buckle. Everything was falling back into place. Once Mercer was taken care of, her life— _their_ life—would begin anew.

 _They won't take me away from the woman I love._ The moment the words came to her mind, an unearthly peace washed over her. Her body went limp as she sat on the bed and fell backward slowly. Stretching herself out, she let her mind wander until she lay in a stupor of bliss, lost in thoughts of his kisses, and drifting into a daydream, finally coming home to where she belonged.

A deafening shriek from the Cistern echoed off the walls shattering her peaceful rest. It was a woman's scream, but it wasn't Vex or Karliah. _Sapphire!_ She leapt from the bed and sprinted from the room.

"Get him over here!" she heard Brynjolf shout as she raced toward the thieves surrounding him and a bed. "Whose arrow is sticking out of Vipir's side, Del?"

"Not sure. Had to be a sniper hiding in the cemetery. He was long gone by the time I ran out there. Can't tell by the fletching either. Standard bolt from a crossbow."

"One of Mercer's men, no doubt. Have Dirge fetch the mage!"

Natasja peered over Delvin's shoulder. The injury rendered Vipir almost unconscious, but his limbs still quivered with the strong pain. "Del, is he going to make it?" The urgency in her voice gave way to frantic worry. "He looks deathly pale."

"He's a strong one, and I've seen him hurt worse. A prayer or two wouldn't hurt though, Nat."

_He wants me to pray? He may die then. Oh gods…._

"Vipir, stay with me," Brynjolf implored as Natasja moved next to him, but only mumblings and wheezing came from their injured brother. Blood had already covered the sheets, and Vipir's chest barely rose and fell with shallow breaths.

"He'll bleed out if you remove the arrow," Natasja said.

"I know that, damn it!" Brynjolf snapped in a panic as he raised his head. "Sapphire, get me some clean cloth and hot water. And some of that Valenwood whiskey too."

Sapphire's face had paled, her eyes brimming with unshed tears before she ran off. Natasja caught Brynjolf's eye, and they shared the unspoken truth that had been written on Sapphire's face. It chilled Natasja's bones to think Vipir might die before Sapphire could tell him the depth of her feelings. She glanced at Brynjolf as he tended to the wound, and thanked the gods for allowing them both to finally profess their love for each other.

Karliah approached then, wringing her hands over and over. "Our luck is running out, Brynjolf. We _must_ leave soon."

"Not until the mage gets here."

"It could take an hour or more to find her." Karliah pointedly looked at Natasja, as if expecting an answer. "Hesitation is the seed of defeat. It is what brought this attack on in the first place."

"Don't you _dare_ blame me for this," Natasja said in all but a growl.

"I'm not. I'm simply-"

"No one is to blame for this," Brynjolf said firmly as silence shrouded the Cistern.

Sapphire returned with the items he had asked for, but quickly disappeared. Natasja knew how she felt, wanting to stay yet needing to leave for her own sanity. Natasja hoped this incident would open her eyes, make her see that some things should not wait. She sighed and watched Brynjolf. It broke his heart to see Vipir so near death and there was nothing she could do except wait helplessly for the mage to come.

Long minutes, a solid half-hour at least, had passed before the mage, Marya, was hustled to Vipir's side. Her hands glowed the brightest of cerulean as she touched him, and the wound stopped bleeding.

"He has lost a great deal of blood. I cannot replace what has left him, but I can stabilize him. The arrow will have to be removed, eventually. But for now, it must remain as it is within him."

"Will he make it?" Brynjolf asked with a faint crack in his voice.

"His heartbeat is weak, and his lungs are filling with fluid. But he is young and strong, stubborn. He should survive. I could summon a daedra to make a deal with you, if you so desire."

Brynjolf's eyes darted to Delvin, silently asking for his advice. A slight shake of his head was all Delvin offered. _No more Daedra_. "No. Do everything in your power. Call in another mage if you must. But you are to stay here until he wakes. If you need anything at all, just ask Delvin or Vex."

Her eyebrows rose skeptically. "I do have a few _expensive_ potions to speed up his blood production. But I hear the Guild is having some financial troubles."

"You'll be paid well, Marya." Brynjolf handed her several gold pieces from his pocket, more than he needed to. "And there will be more when he's up and around."

She tipped her head in acceptance and began another round of healing. "Come now, child," Marya intoned, "think of what you have to live for."

Natasja and Karliah waited for Brynjolf's directive. When he finally stood up, satisfied the mage would do her best, he cocked his head, indicating they should move toward the bridge for privacy.

"He's in good hands," Karliah said. "I've seen other men recover from such an injury. You being one of them."

"Aye. He'll live. And then I'll beat the tar out of him for being so reckless." He breathed a sigh of relief. "As much as I hate to leave right now, I think we'd best get to Nightingale Hall before any more ill fortune befalls us."

For the first time since her arrival, Karliah relaxed, a half-smile playing on her lips as she laid her hand on Natasja's shoulder. "I'm glad you've changed your mind. It wouldn't be the same without you."

Natasja and Brynjolf shared a fleeting glance before he spoke. "It would be quieter as there would be much less bellyaching, but I agree." Then he gazed at her with calm affection. "It wouldn't be the same at all."

"You know, I can't remember the last time I heard a Nightingale sing," Natasja remarked. "Maybe Nocturnal can improve my singing voice."

"It would take more than a Daedra for that, lass. Perhaps Nocturnal has some other Daedric friends better suited to help budding sopranos. Then we would surely witness a miracle."

Surprisingly unaffected by his ribbing, Natasja began humming under her breath, then slowly she sang aloud. "We drink to our youth, and to days come and gone. For the age of Mercer's oppression is now nearly done."

She heard Brynjolf and Karliah chuckle a little. Maybe they laughed at the addition of Mercer's name, or her awful singing voice as she sang off-key, no sense of carrying a tune whatsoever. Either way, she sang on, listening to her own voice echo off the rock walls of the Cistern.

"But this is our Guild and we'll see it rise again with the death of the man who has sullied ours dreams!"


	14. Dream Demon

A dense fog had rolled into Riften. The accumulated water dripped from the trees and moisture drenched every surface. Frogs croaked loudly, reveling in the wetness as Natasja, Brynjolf and Karliah made their way to the Shadow Stone near the Nightingale Sanctum.

Normally weather like this would have put Natasja in an absurdly foul mood, but her mind was so busy with thoughts of Brynjolf and their shared affections, she didn't see the large pillar as they neared it.

Keeping to the trail on her right, she wondered if this was the real thing, if he was "the one" and if he truly felt for her as she did for him.

 _He must think me a wanton fool though, all, "Brynjolf, why are you so sweet to me?" And "Brynjolf, I do love when you hold me like that." And "Brynjolf, put your hands right there and... Yes. Yes! YES!"_ An awkward little giggle left her feeling embarrassed, but she was determined not to let anything get in the way of their happiness now. Not Mercer, not her bloody past, and certainly not anything the Grey Beards might have to say about her destiny.

Tingling in all the right places, the landscape passed by in a fog even thicker than in reality, and not even the looming ancient Shadow Stone drew her attention.

"Lass, where are you going? It's over here," she heard Brynjolf say.

"Ah. So it is." Stopping in her tracks, she peered over her shoulder with a devilish grin on her face, the images of them together intimately as vivid as possible.

Brynjolf quirked an eyebrow, but when Natasja wiggled hers suggestively, his face grew solemn. He sidled up next to her, leaning in discreetly. "This is no time to be thinking about anything except that bastard, Mercer. I know where your head is at, but you have to stay focused. It's too dangerous otherwise."

"You're no fun sometimes, Bryn, you know that?"

"Acting like a love struck fool will get you killed."

"And acting like a-" She stopped, bristling, a puzzled look ghosting across her face as his eyes rolled up.

"Damn it, lass, you need to… Gods, you are a frustrating woman." Brynjolf's shoulders tensed as he stood and stared at her. His eyes spoke of something deeply personal, a fleeting pain, almost a silent accord. "This is not the time for idle fantasies. You and I have come too far to let everything fall apart now."

Frissons of irrational anger ran through her as she stood with hands on her hips and arms akimbo. "Do you mean us, or tracking Mercer?"

"Both," he said tersely. "I'll drag your smart arse back to Riften if you don't promise to keep your wits about you. No more daydreaming about your knight in shining armor, all right?"

"You're one cocky Nord, you know that?" Little did he know how weak-kneed his criticism had made her, but she wouldn't let him in on that little tidbit. "And how do you know who or what I'm thinking about?"

"I'm an expert when it comes to deciphering body language," he countered, smug in his authority.

"Oh, please." She looked away, crossing her arms over her chest. "You're playing with me now."

"Liars tend to avoid eye contact," he said. "And crossing one's arms usually suggests that person is in a bad mood, or feeling a bit… vulnerable." He shrugged, a half smile playing on his lips. "It's a skill I've honed well over the years."

"Bullshit. You guessed." He was an excellent judge of people, damn it, but she'd fancied herself one big question mark in his eyes. _Self-centered_ , she thought, preparing her assault. _Egotistical, melon-headed_ … How exactly did he always know what she was thinking? _Men and their bloody instincts._ The words were there, screaming to come out, but _… Gods, I can't say anything mean to him anymore._ She sighed. It seemed she truly was bitten, and beaten, by a love bug. Or maybe it was a rabid wolf.

Finding herself unable to curse the man she loved, she stopped the impending outburst and smiled sweetly. "Okay, I promise. But one last, small temptation for you."

He gave her a sidelong glance, sighing and furrowing his brows. "The absolute _last_ one."

"It will be. Just don't forget that when this is all over, I'm to be your serving wench for a day. Remember the bet I lost when I couldn't pick Mercer's lock?"

"Aye," he whispered. "And you'll pay in spades, lass, but put those lustful notions out of your head now. Please, _please_ stay focused. There's a right way and a wrong way to deal with this." He took a deep breath and closed his eyes for a moment. "And then there's _my_ way. I'll protect you with everything I've got, but you've got to hold up your end as well. _And_ follow my lead. Understand?"

"Protect _me_?" Her gaze narrowed as she studied him. "You're the one who needs _my_ protection."

"Now, lass, don't take offense."

A little growl left her before she could stop it; deferring to Brynjolf was hard. Natasja hadn't given an inch in so many years, it was nearly impossible for her to follow anyone's lead. But Brynjolf wasn't just anyone now. She trusted him, respected his judgment, and reveled in his skills. Those things added up to a man unlike any man she'd ever known, and unlike any other man, she loved him unequivocally. That made all the difference. "Don't you worry about my end. The way I'm feeling right now, nothing in my path will be safe."

"I don't want you to get too arrogant. Just do what you do best. And I'm not talking about racing ahead half-cocked." When he stroked his eyebrow more than once, there was no mistaking the concern in his plea _._

"I know what you mean, Brynjolf. For you, I'll weigh the choices carefully before striking out," she said in a low voice, and with a smile that meant everything had been said on the matter. Even so, her heart fluttered wildly in her chest. He did love her, and any doubts she'd had niggling at the back of her mind were just childish and unfounded. She had to stop this nonsense at once. Throwing her arms around him she hugged him with everything she had. _"_ I don't need to see your body cut down to know you're willing to die for me. That's one reason I love you, Brynjolf." The hands around her waist tensed as she drew back and stared into his eyes. "I promise I will keep my head on straight for the rest of this operation. Thieves' honor." She smiled and nodded once.

"Good. Now let's go before Karliah changes her mind about us."

Natasja glanced up at the Dunmer. "Too late. She's already got that look on her face."

"Come on you two! Time is of the essence," Karliah said, impatience adding a curt tinge to her voice. "Have I made a mistake bringing you both here? I certainly hope not."

Natasja and Brynjolf shared a cautious laugh before walking toward to the Shadow Stone.

"I told you, Bryn, she's like a mother hen."

"That's all right, lass. I think you're in need of one right now."

Natasja protested with a sound that fell somewhere between amused and annoyed. Truth be told, he was probably right. Karliah cared about her, wanted the best for her, and if she acted motherly at times, Natasja honestly didn't mind. It made her feel special, secure. Along with most of the Guild members, Karliah embraced her as a sister, and this new family was all she had now. Brynjolf was the patriarchal head, albeit in theory, so why not look upon Karliah as the matriarch? _Though that would mean Bryn and Karliah would have to be some sort of couple if they were really the parents of all us orphans._ _Okay, scratch that thought and-_

"Natasja, get a move on," Brynjolf said, interrupting her thoughts with a tug on her arm. Karliah had already opened the entrance and was motioning impatiently for them to join her. "Our sweet Nightingale is getting downright bothered," he said.

Natasja smiled the sort of smile a petulant child offers her mother as an apology. "All right, Nightingales… or wannabes, in your case, Bryn. Onward!" She threw her shoulders back and strode confidently toward the entrance. "Let's get this damn ritual over with."

* * *

The interior of the Sanctum was in severe neglect and disarray. A bed lay crumpled under the debris of a collapsed roof, a bookcase was upended, and moss and weeds grew in the dampness, sprouting in darkened corners.

"No wonder you prefer to hang around the Cistern," Natasja said to Karliah. "This place is ten times nastier."

"Actually, I rather like it," Karliah said, her voice stronger than usual. "It has a certain… mystique."

"It also has a certain stench," Natasja whispered when she spied a dead skeever.

"I'd say this place has its charms," Brynjolf remarked with an odd expression. "But the Cistern, well, that's home for me. And you are welcome to stay there too, Karliah, when this is over."

"Thank you, Brynjolf. That's very generous of you to offer, but I'll be staying here when I'm in Riften. My memories are here, when I was with Gallus." She let out a wistful sigh and gazed off into the distance. "My poor Gallus."

Brynjolf gave a warm, fleeting look at Natasja. "I understand, Karliah. Still, you're always welcome there."

With a gentle, but not at all happy smile, Karliah led them past the overgrowth and tangles of vines until they reached a dimly lit alcove with several armor stands.

Karliah's arms spread open wide, proud of the sight before them all. "And here we are. Natasja. Brynjolf. The Lady will want you wearing the traditional armor of the Nightingale and not your Thieves' Guild attire."

"Of course," Natasja said with an air of annoyance. "Gods forbid she see us for what we _really_ are."

"Natasja, she knows what we are," Karliah said. "But the armor is… well, it will help us greatly. Trust me. Your stamina will be increased, your steps will be muffled… We can't afford _not_ to wear it."

"Fine, fine." Natasja grabbed her gear and was surprised by the lightness of it, but it felt thick and cloying. She had always preferred to wear roomy leather armor for the freedom of movement it offered. While the Nightingale armor was supple and lightweight, it did seem a bit too confining, too limiting. Too ominous. "On second thought, I think I'll stick with the guild's armor." She tossed the blackened leather back onto the stone, pursing her lips and squinting.

"It is of superior quality and enchanted for our safety," Karliah insisted. "Nocturnal, for her own reasons, just needs to see a gesture of good faith. She will not even _consider_ a conversation with us if she sees you in anything but Nightingale armor."

"Lass, just put it on," Brynjolf said as he pulled the hood over his face. "We've committed to this already. Don't be difficult now."

Gods, why did the two of them always need to pressure her so? Karliah wore her most admonishing expression, and Brynjolf simply looked at her—his eyes peering through the little slits in the armor—as if he were waiting to see if she would obey without coming to blows.

 _Damn it all._ She quickly peeled off her thieves' armor down to her underclothes and donned the supple leather of a Nightingale initiate.

"What is this?" Natasja asked as she pulled the hood down over her face. "It's almost like…a fluid metal of some kind." Her pulse quickened, rivulets of sweat forming on her brow. "It's so dark in here, so close to my skin. I never wear hoods for this exact reason!" She pawed at it, hoping that somehow the eye slits would expand and more light and air would flow in. The more she tried to move it around, the shakier her hands became. "I don't think I can do this, Karliah." Her breathing grew short and choppy, her words stifled. "I want… this …off."

"Relax," Karliah said, gently taking hold of Natasja's hand. "You will get used it, believe me. I know it seems rather confining, but try moving around. It won't hinder your movements at all."

Natasja didn't hear her. Panic was setting in, and her fingers fumbled as they grabbed at the hood. "Gods, I can't breathe in this. Bryn? Brynjolf, I can't… can't catch my breath."

"Hold it together, lass. Take deep breaths, not shallow." Brynjolf took hold of her shoulders.

"I _can't_ … it's too dark, too hot." Warm tears stung her cheeks but had no outlet in the armored mask. They pooled at her chin, not even reachable with her tongue. "I can't see your face," she said, unable to speak above a whisper, her head swimming with shadowy thoughts as she swayed on her feet.

"Look into my eyes, Natasja. Look. I'm right here with you, and with you I shall remain. You've nothing to fear."

Nothing to fear….

Her eyes closed and her knees buckled, faint moans, almost cries coming from under the Nightingale hood. A desolate memory, long concealed in the deepest recesses of her soul, came to her as if in a dream.

" _Please don't hurt my sister. I promise I won't tell anyone about you, about any of this." The ropes tied around her wrists and ankles chafe her skin as she writhes, trying to move away. "There's an axe in that chest and some silver in the drawer there! Just take it and go, before someone comes along and finds you here. I beg you, just leave us alone."_

" _Shut up, you little whore." The slap to her face stings, but her feeble begging scars a place much deeper within her. "You think you're so smart, do ya? We'll take what we want and run from no one. Your father's cheated me for the last time. Bah! Why am I even talkin' to you? Maybe this sack over your head'll shut you up."_

" _No, I need to … Please, I have to see. I'm afraid of the dark," she whimpers._

" _Afraid of the dark?" A moment of silence_ , _a_ _crackle of embers_ _from the fire as a log collapses, the light surrendering to blackness. "_ _Aren't you a bit old for that rubbish?" Tears fall as cruel laughter echoes off the walls. "Didn't that bastard father of yours tell you about the darkness, about the strength ya get from suffering?"_

 _And then the pain, searing flesh, white and hot._ _In the blackness,_ _she no longer feels_ _the blistering heat of the coin on her_ _bare flesh as she slips into a fairy-tale, a handsome knight riding toward her, her savior growing ever closer by the minute._

" _How does it feel after a few minutes in the coals, eh? Just another mark for you to remember what a pathetic urchin you are. You'd do well to tell that whoreson to pay up next time or worse things will happen to his kin. Understand me, girl? Understand?"_

" _Yes," she says, though she doubts he heard her._

" _Docile as a lamb now, eh?" Filthy hands paw at her, yanking her arms up to his mouth only to spit on them. "Eh, too many marks, like damaged goods, you are. But I bet your father makes plenty of coin when you spread your legs for the soldiers comin' through town."_

" _He…he doesn't do that. I've never…."_

" _No? Never got it, eh? No one'll have her boys, the ugly bitch! And I'll not have ya either. No, I like my women soft and round, smooth, like a babe's bottom, and as pretty as my mum. Not a spindly, marked up waif like you. Now, tell me where that lovely, pale-skinned sister of yours is."_

" _No!"_

Brynjolf's arms encircled her as she collapsed, catching her before she hit the ground.

"Snap out of it, lass!" He yanked the hood from her head, his eyes wide with alarm.

"Brynjolf," she whispered, unable to stop tears from falling. "I can't do this. I just… I can't."

"Yes, you can, Natasja. Look at me, look into my eyes, love." He held her in his arms, as tightly as a blacksmith's vise, worried distantly that he was hurting her but so desperate to make her understand. "Forget wearing the hood if you have to. But don't for one second tell me you can't fight at my side with everything you've got. I know you can. I _know_ it, Gods damn it. I've seen that warrior's spark in your eyes."

"You're wrong. I'm not a true fighter. I just… I try, but that's not really who I -"

"The way you saved the little girl in Whiterun," he cut in, lowering his eyes to find Natasja's gaze locked on his. "The way you took out those mercenaries at Mercer's, the giants at Largashbur, the forsworn Karliah talked about—that all took guts. Balls bigger than any man I know."

Stepping back, she nodded, albeit weakly, his faith leaching into her veins little by little as she took deep breaths. "But you don't know…I haven't told you everything in my past, and some things are too hard to forget. Sometimes, when those voices get into my head, I freeze up."

"I know what you're feeling, lass. I've felt it too. But trust me, the only way to get past it is to put in its place, bury it now, even if it's only for a while." He held out his hand, palm up, and sighed in relief when her hand slowly rose. "You can do this. I know you can. Take my hand and l'll lead you."

She stared down at it, as if reluctant to accept it, but afraid not to. Emotions surged and swelled, and the pain of the past, the suffering and the loss, overwhelmed her. "Brynjolf," she said, barely above a whisper. "Please help me." A trembling hand took his, the ghost of a girl she once was surfacing. "I need help. _Your_ help."

Her gaze drifted in a confused bewilderment toward Karliah, patiently waiting. A purple glow emanated from the doorway, bathing her friend in soft and soothing tones of lavender. Maybe it was the loving smile on Karliah's face, or the warm hand grasping Natasja's like a lifeline. Or maybe it was the sweet smell of lilacs thick in the air of a dream long past. No matter the reason, she held fast to her lover's hand, silently longing to connect and persevere.

"Trust me, lass. I won't let you wallow in this." Auburn locks tickled her cheek as he pulled her in, close to him _,_ like a tide intent on carrying her to the shore. "I'll never let you drown, love. Never."


End file.
